


The Rose and the Fox

by Trystero



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, Backstory, Dark Romance, F/M, Gallows Humor, Hatesex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Object Penetration, POV First Person, Phone Sex, whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 28,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trystero/pseuds/Trystero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose of Sharon Cassidy has an unexpected encounter with the foxiest man in the Mojave - and they instantly hate each other.</p><p>But the Rose also has the cutest ass in the Mojave, and the Fox can't help but take an unprofessional interest. </p><p>Out of the blue he launches a charm offensive against her so stunning in its audacity that even an old cynic like Cassidy has to admit she's impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone likes to think they’re special. I know I am. What’s special about me is I have the worst luck of anyone in the whole goddamn Mojave. Like Hank Williams used to say; I’ve had a lotta luck but it’s all been bad. Somehow, I always seem to find myself in stupid situations.

So. Here I am, sitting in Caesar’s tent in Fortification Hill, surrounded by his bodyguards - which he calls his “praetorian guard”, pompous ass that he is – pointedly picking my fingernails with a long, dirty, mean combat knife.

Trying to look tough, while they stand around staring holes through me and occasionally whispering slyly to each other.

Waiting for my boss, Violetta, known to her friends as Vi and to everyone else The Courier, to finish nailing Caesar so we can get along outta here.

I bet you’re wondering, who the hell would wanna nail _that_ creepy old bastard? Vi would, because she’s got a thing for men in power. She’s a compulsive star-fucker. Heh, I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on her face when she found out Mr New Vegas was only a machine. Funny as a fight.

So far under my watch she’s banged a couple of NCR military bigwigs, two casino bosses in Vegas, and some raider head honcho called Motor-Runner who you could smell from half a mile away. The Motor-Runner thing was particularly ugly because this guy Craig Boone who had been travelling with us, a sweet sort of a fella and a dab hand with a rifle, had been under the (mostly self-made) illusion that he and Vi were an item. He talked to me about marrying her and everything, and that was only about a week after they got involved. I did try to tell him he might be going a bit fast. Then she ‘told’ him less gently, by fucking Motor-Runner right in front of him, and he left that night and never came back.

Don’t get me wrong, Vi is great in most respects. She’s fast and funny and I like her, but boy I wish she wouldn’t put me in situations like this. The problem is she’s a risk-taker and she sometimes manoeuvres me into taking risks with her that I’m not ok with. Today’s little adventure is not ok at all. I’m supposed to be here as her bodyguard, and they did let me keep my weapons as a special favour from Caesar to Vi, but stuck in this room I feel vulnerable as hell. It’s one me with a shotgun and a knife, against six overbuilt goons with powerfists. Even if I wasn’t the unluckiest person alive, I wouldn’t rate my chances.

Oh god, now wet sounds are coming from the direction Vi and Caesar went in. Tent flaps don’t make for soundproofing.

_Squelch, squelch, squelch, oooh baby._

Aargh. I try to keep my face blank. The men start sniggering. They’re staring at me so hard now that I feel like a butcher’s display in front of a pack of starving mongrels.

Vi, you goddamn moron, I’m never going anywhere with you again.


	2. Chapter 2

After the squelching subsides, Vi and Caesar come out, Vi smoothing her sun-lightened hair and straightening her seams, Caesar looking distinctly pleased with himself. He declares that we will be staying the night and calls in a slave, ordering a banquet to be prepared.

Not good. Every minute more that we spend here is stretching my threadbare luck. I give Vi an “ _I will kill you if we don’t leave right now_ ” look.  
She cocks her head to one side, then says, “Caesar baby, can my bodyguard have somewhere nice and safe nearby to sleep?”  
“Sure. We don’t have guest accommodation here, but she can share Vulpes Inculta’s tent, there couldn’t be anywhere safer,” he replies. 

I cannot believe my ears. I haven’t met the infamous Vulpes Inculta yet, but from everything I’ve heard about him, there could not be anywhere less safe. Oh of course. Caesar is trying to kill me.

I turn to Vi. “Naw, it’s fine. I’ll just head out on my own, see you back at the 38.”  
“Oh don’t go, I need you,” she says, ignoring my look.  
“It’ll be dark soon. You’ll stay here,” Caesar says. It’s an order, not a suggestion. “Lucius. Show our guest to her new digs.”

A heavyset, bearded man steps forward and steers me by the shoulder out of the command tent and down towards the sea of smaller tents the grunts sleep in. Most of them are tiny two-man’ers but nearest us there is a row of slightly larger ones, still only two-man, but big enough to stand in, if you stooped. 

“In here.” The second one in the row has a tin water bowl outside it. Lucius pushes me into the tent and walks away.

Vulpes Inculta is not in, thank fuck. I hope he doesn’t make it back today from wherever he is.

I look around. He seems to have very few personal possessions. Centred at the other end there’s a thin bedmat, folded up, with an old, fraying blanket neatly folded on top of it. Along one side are stacked various sets of gear. Some spare legion stuff, and some uniforms of other organisations; Powder Gangers, NCR Military Police, even a set of NCR Ranger combat armour. Jeez. If I had that one I’d never take it off – those things can shrug off armour-piercing ammo like it was pellets.

Tucked in between the uniforms, a toy gun catches my eye. That’s weird - nothing else in here hints at a sense of fun. I take a closer peek. It’s definitely a toy, all bright colours and overdone retro-futuristic design. Looks like a kid’s souvenir from a space museum. I pick it up and point it around the place. It’s very light, and I notice it has no hole in the barrel. I pull the trigger a few times. It makes a plasticky _click_. A kid’s toy, and a crappy one at that.

I open my pack and root out my whisky bottle for a quick swig. Well, I call it whisky, but it’s really a moonshine that I make myself. Better than whisky because it doesn’t leave any distinctive smell on my breath. Some people say I have a problem with booze. I say there’s no problem unless the supply runs out. I’m not alcoholic, really. I’m still fully functional. I just like to drink a little, every day. Several times a day. 

Alcohol is actually banned at Fortification Hill, but my whisky bottle passed inspection because it isn’t really a whisky bottle, it’s a beautiful antique dark green-glass bottle with a built-in cork stopper on a wire mechanism. OLIVE OIL is pressed in the glass itself, along with a depiction of some small leaves and little oblong things, which I guess are olives. It’s tall, narrow, and round; smaller than a normal whisky bottle, but holds more than a hipflask. My daddy left it to me, along with the rose pendant I wear around my neck, and not a lot else. It sat in my room throughout my childhood, as a vase, with a faded plastic rose in it.

Anyway I just told the guys at the fortress gate that it was oil for maintaining my weapons with, and they didn’t check.

I take a second swig. The whisky does its job, smoothing the rough edges off my senses.

It’s hot outside and even hotter in the tent, but I’m so relieved to be out of view of the legionaries that I keep the tentflap closed. Unfurling my bedroll next to Inculta’s – there’s no other space but right next to it – I stretch out for a moment’s rest. Sounds fade in and out, barking and shouting and men talking in Latin and boots trudging up and down.

Goddamn it’s hot. I loosen the top three buttons of my checked shirt. They’re usually wide open, but under the eyes of Caesar’s men I’d had them done up tight.

Caesar’s men... also no good at all. I love hard men, and I’ve never been averse to playing with more than one at a time, but this place is a whole other scene, one even I’m not ready for.

Hell’s teeth, Vi, you are playing one dangerous game, teasing the Bull. Put one foot wrong and you’re like as not to get gored, and me with you.

I’m lying there dozing, not really asleep but not fully awake either, when I hear a slopping sound, very close. The tentflap swings open and a bag is dropped in, to one side. I half sit up, blinking in the glare. A man is crouching in the opening, staring at me. Two large black dogs gulp down water from the bowl behind him.

I don’t know what to say, so I wait for him to speak or move but he doesn’t, just looks at me. I can’t really make out his expression, silhouetted against the sun as he is, but chances are it’s not a happy one.

I sit fully up and kneel awkwardly in front of him, holding out my hand. “Rose of Sharon Cassidy. I guess no one told you, but Caesar told me to sleep here. Um. Sorry.”  
He makes no reply. The dogs finish drinking and stick their noses into the tent, sniffing at me and growling softly. Abruptly he flips the tentflap closed and I see his shadow move away. The dogs stay outside, still making low growls. Great. Now I’m stuck here, or get bitten.

The bag he tossed inside is lying there. There’s a ripper slung on the side with what looks like recent blood smeared on it. Lovely. This whole picture just gets prettier and prettier.

I don’t know what to do, and my nerves are jangling again, so I sneak another mouthful of whisky, keeping my eye out for shadows.

A few minutes later I’m rescued by Lucius, who comes to collect me for dinner, and tells the dogs to shut the hell up. I expect a ribboned leg as I escape the tent, but they seem to respect Lucius and sit quietly as I go past.

Back in Caesar’s tent, tables have been pushed together and a feast has been laid out. Lots of different types of meat. Water to drink. Not much else.

While I’m milling around waiting to be told where to sit, Vulpes Inculta comes in, freshly washed, his hair still damp. He speaks softly but intently in Lucius’ ear. Lucius just nods at him. Inculta’s mouth hardens and he turns his gaze on me. The look he gives me... no description could do it justice. It is pure, heart-stopping hatred. My chest sinks and I can’t swallow. You know the old expression, “if looks could kill”? Well, turns out it’s not always hyperbole. Right then, I’m pretty sure I kind of died.

The next few minutes go by in a nightmarish blur. I find myself being made to sit right next to my tentmate. He does not speak at all, and I feel helplessly repelled from him as though we were magnets at polar opposites. His aura is literally pushing me away, and I lean slightly into the man on my other side.

Everyone else at the dinner is having a good time. Vi is smiling and laughing, and the Legion officers are doing the same. They’re all on their best behaviour, and there are no bawdy jokes, or at least not until one of them looks at me.  
“Cass, is it? Vulpes Inculta has a dog named Cass. So Vulpes, now you have two bitches named Cass!”  
Everyone pauses and looks at me. Everyone except Vi and Caesar that is, who are chatting to each other about cod-philosophy, oblivious.  


I can’t think of anything to come back with that wouldn’t hazard me getting strung up, so I clamp my teeth together and don’t say anything.  
Inculta speaks for the first time, addressing the table at large. “I have two dogs, their names are Cassiopeia and _Silence_.”  
Everyone freezes for a second till Lucius speaks. “Easy, Vulpes. Just jovial talk.”  
Inculta’s voice is quietly menacing. “Joviality is a game of children.” Then he says, “My dogs are noble, loyal, and worthy creatures.” He turns his head to look sideways at me, eyes narrowed.  


And with that, it becomes clear, just in case it hadn’t been before, that his concern is not that I am being compared insultingly to a dog. He’s irritated that his dog has been insulted by comparison to me.


	3. Chapter 3

When the excruciating dinnerparty is over, Vi blows me a kiss and goes off with Caesar again, and the rest of us drift out into the night, to our respective tents. There’s a bright waxing moon above us, and the night sky is aglow with stars. Would be a nice night not to be stuck in Fortification Hill with an army of raving psychopaths. Inculta and I walk back to his tent. He follows me a few feet behind, which doesn’t help with my nerves, and I dearly wish I had a whole bellyful of whisky. Then at least I could relax and enjoy my imminent demise.

The dogs are asleep outside his tent, but each opens an eye as I arrive. I look uncertainly back at Inculta. He gestures me in with mock chivalry. It’s nice to feel so welcome.

In I go, cursing Vi under my breath for the hundredth time that day. He doesn’t immediately follow me, so I take the opportunity to strip off at lightning speed and rush under my scratchy grey woollen blanket, taking my loaded shotgun under it with me. I lie down facing away from his side, but that makes me even more paranoid so I turn to face his side. Once I’ve made no sound for a little while, Inculta enters the tent. That was polite of him, so I try to reciprocate by closing my eyes as he changes, but I can’t seem to manage it. They keep popping open.

He strips down to nothing in front of me, not in a showy way, more like he couldn’t care less. Casual eye contact, nothing too intense. Maybe this will be ok after all. We will go to sleep, and both be alive in the morning.

But I can’t help but notice, his long dick - a fine example of its kind, I might add - is a little bit hard. Not sticking out, all guns blazing; but not sleeping either.

Lying down on his side facing me, one foot away, he just looks at me. Not hatred now, no particular expression. Just an unnervingly steady gaze. I grip the shotgun hidden under my blanket. He looks at me. I look at him. He won’t shut his goddamn eyes, and I don’t dare shut mine.

It’s not cold but the hairs on my arms are standing on end. The electricity between us is frying my synapses. I open my mouth to try to say something funny, to maybe break the circuit, but then I flash on his injunction against joviality and close it again. That makes me feel like a goldfish and I involuntarily give a wry half-smile. He watches me impassively. I close my eyes. About four seconds later the damn things spring open again. He is still watching me. I close them and use all my willpower to keep them closed. My hearing becomes as keen as a squirrel’s. There’s no sound from him. Not even the sound of breathing.

It’s only when I hear the metallic _schlink_ of a switchblade flicking open, a hair’s breadth from my ear, that I realise I am not the only one who brought a weapon to bed.

No, I did not wet myself, thanks for asking; but I’ll admit I might have come close. There are certain situations that you can never know what you will do in, right until they happen. I find myself not reacting, at least not visibly, other than to open my eyes. His eyes are still on me, their expression inscrutable.

The knife blade touches my cheek, flat side down. Cold steel strokes my cheekbone, down to my jawline, and up again. The point passes my eye, and he strokes my eyebrow, the blade ghosting over the ends of my eyelashes. He is caressing me. With a blade. And I don’t doubt, knowing him for even as short a time as I have, that it is razor-sharp, just like everything else about him.

I can’t let this go any further – it cannot end well, unchecked. Knives have one purpose, and it’s not to caress. Without changing my expression, nor taking my eyes off his, I poke my shotgun out from under the blanket, my finger on the trigger, and push the barrel into the underside of his jaw.

He’s the one to freeze now, I note with satisfaction. He actually breaks eye contact, just for a second, to glance down at my hand. Checking to see if my finger really is on the trigger, no doubt. His blade is still pressed lightly against my cheek. The staring resumes, but my nerves are quiet now, and my breathing steady. Checkmate, fucker.

My mother once told me, years ago - the way to deal with scary things? You just have to make sure that _you_ are always the scariest thing in the room. Like most every bit of advice, it’s easier said than done; but I’m making it happen now. Oh yeah. Inculta is on the back foot.

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, but I notice. Less whisky than usual in my blood: I’m starting to notice things. I notice him take a long breath. Gearing himself up for something? What the heck, I’ll go first.

He moves at the same microsecond I do. The switchblade retracts and he tosses it aside just as I roll up onto my knees for a better firing position; or at least a more threatening one, since I don’t really want to start a firefight here. It would be the last thing I ever did. On the other hand, it might be pretty funny, while it lasted. And I could use a laugh.

He doesn’t anticipate my action and I manage to get him off balance and straddle his chest, shotgun pointing down so the end of the barrel is kissing his mouth.

“My move. Again,” I say softly, giving him a grin. I’m starting to enjoy this.

Oh boy, his eyes are flashing warning signs now. Sheer animal fury. He shakes his head, slowly. I’m not sure of his precise meaning. No time to ponder it though, I need to plan and execute my next move fast, before he comes up with his.

I must make a little confession. Topping this sinewy, angry, naked male, somewhat naked myself? It’s getting me kinda moist. Don’t judge; you try keeping your cool when your female parts are literally pressed against a hot man. Not to mention there’s something incredibly sexy about watching his lips brush against the barrel of my gun.

While I’m distracted, too busy noticing the tingling sensations in my nethers, he beats me to the next move. His hands come up behind me and gently grip the cheeks of my ass. Nice. I don’t object to that at all. Then he pushes me forward, looks right at my pussy, parts his lips, and pushes me up again. Oh my - I think he wants me to sit on his face. Sweet. Looks like he and I are going to get along just fine after all.

I put the gun aside, move up tentatively and let him position me hovering right over his mouth, shivering in anticipation of that beautiful first lick. Instead, he shoves me violently off, twisting up behind me.

Goddamn it. Of course he was faking, it’s obvious in retrospect - what self-respecting Legion man lets a woman sit on his face? Stupid, Cassidy. I grab for the shotgun, but he grabs me before I reach it, and forces me facedown into the ground. Fuck he’s strong. Stronger than he looks with that scrawny frame of his. My face is pressed into his blanket and I smell him on it. Mansweat, a sweet scent, one of my favourites. A close second to the smell of good whisky.

I feel his hot breath on my ear and I wonder if he’s finally going to speak to me, but instead he bites me, hard. I gasp and he clamps a hand over my mouth, silencing me and at the same time using it to pull me backwards and up onto my elbows and knees. I find myself in an extremely compromising position, naked on all fours, less than thirty seconds into this skirmish. He doesn’t waste a second. Before I can find traction to scramble out from under him he forces my legs apart and rams his dick into me, making me groan an unintelligible sound.

“Do you need a hand, Vulpes?” comes a sardonic voice from one side. It is Lucius, in the next tent.  
Inculta instantly goes still, except for his dick pulsing inside me. He replies calmly, in Latin. He waits a moment but Lucius makes no further remark. Then he leans forward and repositions his hand, carefully and firmly, over my mouth. He’s not trying to suffocate me, I recognise that. He just wants to silence me. Not a bad idea, considering we are surrounded. I’m no keener than he is on the idea of other Legionaries nosing into our little tête-à-tête.

Yeah, I could have used Lucius’ interruption as a good moment to try to escape, but here’s the thing. I don’t altogether want to. The moment I saw his dick, a little part of me – specifically, the part he just annexed – kinda started to want him. And now he’s in occupation, that little part was vindicated, because it feels fucking great. I _want_ him to fuck me senseless, and I’ve got a feeling he’s gonna be good for it.

But I’m not about to tell him that. Let’s have a little fun first.


	4. Chapter 4

A lot of fighting and fucking later, he finally lets me take a rest. I’m drenched in sweat and cum. There’s one thing missing to make this moment perfect. As he lies back, eyes closed, I wait a few minutes, then silently reach into my pack for my whisky bottle. Not there. I feel all around, but it isn’t anywhere. I pause a moment, wondering where I left it, when I hear the familiar soft sound of its cork popping out. Oh fuck. Inculta has it. He must have searched my stuff, after he took his shower.

He offers me the bottle, but when I reach for it he snatches it away again. I hate this kind of game.  
“Give it to me,” I say flatly. There’s no point pretending I don’t want it. I want it, badly.  
He gives me a look that isn’t a smile but comes across as one, moves closer to kneel in front of me and pours a small splash of whisky on the end of his dick. Hmm. Little wasteful, but an interesting idea. My two favourite things, combined. I open my mouth and suck the whisky off him. He’s hot and hard and tastes of him, me, and the whisky. Heaven. He pours a little more on, and I lick and suck, craving every molecule. He lies back and lets himself point to the sky, pouring a few drops more on. The sweet liquid runs down onto his balls and I suck them too.

I don’t want him to waste my whole supply, because I’m going to need some in the morning, so I move up, with the intention of riding on top of him. Oh boy, he does not like that idea. As soon as he sees what I am doing he throws me over on my side. I scramble back for the whisky bottle, praying that the last measure hasn’t spilled out. My fingers find it, and it’s corked, thank fuck. I shake it slightly. Still a decent amount left in there. Phew. My luck was good for once, courtesy of Inculta’s nimble fingers.

He takes the bottle off me and again that smile-feeling is glittering in his eyes. Laying me back he spreads my legs and starts to push the bottle into my pussy.  
“It won’t fit,” I whisper. I know because I’ve tried. Hey, it gets lonely out on the road in those long desert nights.  
He ignores me and keeps trying to find the right angle. I’m about to say “It won’t fit, really,” again, when it slides in smoothly as though it was made for me. All the way in, till my lips close around the neck of the bottle. It feels _incredible_ , and I can’t help breathing out a moan of bliss, cut short when he slaps his hand over my mouth again.

I try to hold my breath as Inculta slides the glass bottle in and out of me. On occasions he pulls it all the way out and then finds that perfect angle again, each time getting faster at finding it, till he can find it without hesitation and drive straight in. If he so much as brushed against my clit I would explode, but he leaves it completely alone, as he has done all night. I reach down to rub it but he pushes my hand away. A few minutes later I’m desperate and try again but he smacks my hand away.

He positions himself between my legs and lifts them over his shoulders, then pushes his hard dick against my ass. It slowly slides in, and oh, fuck. The pleasure is so intense I can’t tell you. I love to be fucked hard in the ass, and he doesn’t disappoint. This man is doing things to me that I’d pay for. I suppose I may yet end up paying, with my life, but so be it. At least I went out with a bang. One of my best bangs of recent memory.

I try once more to touch my clit and he stops me once more, taking my wrists and using them to press on.

No riding on top of him, no licking my pussy, no clitoral stimulation. I’m seeing a pattern here. Goddamn Legion bullshit ideology.

He fucks me hard, then turns me over onto my elbows and knees and fucks me even harder, till I’m sweating and shaking and my blood is rushing wildly in my head.

He cums in my ass and pulls immediately out, pushing me back onto my side of the tent and laying down on his. Still doesn’t say a word. Wham, bam, no “thank you Ma’am”.

I extract my whisky bottle, and take a swig. Warm. Still delicious.

Inculta is lying on his side, looking at me, just as he had at the beginning of the evening.  
“Night,” I say in a friendly whisper. No answer.  
I close my eyes, no longer afraid of what he might do to me. Bring it on.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning I reach for him and to my surprise he’s actually there. Not off perpetrating evil shenanigans at the crack of dawn like I would have thought. He’s asleep, but wakes at my touch. This’ll be interesting. Affection, or disgust?

We fuck missionary-style, looking into each other’s eyes. If missionaries fucked in the ass, that is. I bet they did. His eyes show no disgust for me, but not much affection either. Maybe a tiny bit. If I squint.

When we’re done and dressed, he walks me over to the mess tent to eat. I sit next to him and eat crusty bread and dried fish. I’m the only woman in the room. Even the slaves are male, those too old or crippled to be legionaries. Many eyes flicker to me, but none rest on me long, and no one says anything. Inculta’s aura is so fucking intimidating that only fellow officers have the balls to even look at him.

He doesn’t speak to me or anyone else during breakfast, and afterwards he takes me up to Caesar’s command tent and leaves me there. I get a miniscule nod as a goodbye.

***

Back out on the road with Vi, heading towards New Vegas and the sanctuary of the Lucky 38, I don’t feel much like talking either. What a strange night. Will I ever see him again? Doubtful. Do I even want to? I can’t decide. Most men have a few pros and a few cons... Inculta is different by orders of magnitude. He’s a dream in some respects, fucking awful in others.

A golden gecko comes running right for me and Vi shoots its head off without so much as pausing in her stride. I’m grateful so I relent on the chatting, since I know she wants to.  
“How was it with Caesar?” I ask.  
“He’s a limp-dicked dog,” she replies, laughing. “And god, his breath in the morning!” She makes a face. “How was sharing a tent with Vulpes Inculta?”  
“Not as bad as I expected.” I keep my voice neutral. Don’t feel like going into details.  
“Is he fucking insane?”  
“If you think that, why’d you agree to making me share a tent with him?”  
“Oh, I knew you could handle it,” she says airily. “You didn’t fuck him did you?”  
“A penis may have entered a vagina at some point, it’s not important.”  
Vi goes all serious for some reason. “Cass, you didn’t, did you? You cannot get involved with him. He’ll use you to get information on me. He’s dangerous.”  
“That’s funny,” I say. “When people tell you that some particular man is dangerous you always make a point of fucking him.”  
“Cass, he’s a spy. I can’t have you leaking information to him.”  
“I didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t speak to me once, the whole time we were there.”  
Vi looks unconvinced. “You can’t see him again,” she says firmly, pointing a finger at me.  
“I doubt that’ll be an issue.”

We walk on in silence, but the silence feels different. Vi doesn’t trust me now.

Another gecko comes at me a short while later. Why always me? This time, Vi makes no move, and I have to shoot it myself. Well, damn.

Maybe I do want to see him again.


	6. Chapter 6

☢ _In which the Fox leads the Rose a merry dance_ ☢ 

 

On a bright sunny afternoon, about a week after I entered Inculta’s quarters and he entered mine (hindquarters, that is), I’m walking up the Strip heading to Vault 21’s cafe - where they make the best all-day breakfast you ever had - when I spot Craig Boone heading the other way.

“Hey, Boone!” I call. He stops and stares at me as though seeing a ghost.  
I amble over to him. “Well howdy. Thought you took off back to Novac?”  
“Yeah... I did...” He’s still looking at me strangely. “Left after two days. Wasn’t for me anymore. Working for the Gun Runners now.”  
I invite him to breakfast, he agrees, and we walk together. I chat a little. Boone doesn’t say much.

In the cafe, we order and sit down. Breakfast and a beer for me, just a beer for Boone.

He’s naturally quiet but today even more so than usual. I can see he’s got something on his mind though. I expect him to ask about Vi any minute now.  
Instead he says, “Kinda surprised to see you.”  
“Why? I live here, you know that.”  
“Surprised to see you alive.”  
“Meaning?”  
Boone looks me right in the eye, and what he says next zaps me like a cattle prod.  
“Vi ever tell you she accepted a contract to kill you?”  
My beer bottle freezes halfway to my lips. “What? From who?”  
“Van Graff siblings, over at the Silver Rush. I was with her. Asked her later if she was really going to do it, she said ‘nah’, but she gave that kinda fake laugh of hers, and I got the feeling she was thinking about it.”

That harpie. “What’d they offer for me?” I enquire. I have to ask. After all, it’s not every day you get to find out exactly what you’re worth.  
“Thousand caps, and some combat gear.”  
“And you never thought to mention this to me? Fuck you too, Boone.”  
“Hey, I worked for her, not for you. Much as I regret it.”  
“Yeah... s’pose so,” I concede. I finish my swig. “They say why they wanted me dead?”  
“Yeah, but I didn’t really follow. Something trade related. Too much competition, or something.”  
“That doesn’t make sense. They’re arms dealers, I’m a water merchant. Was.”  
“Don’t ask me.”

Boone finishes his beer and says he has to go. I follow him out about a minute later. Lost my appetite.

I stop outside Vault 21, wondering whether to confront Vi, or the Van Graffs, or what to do. Come to think of it, maybe not the Van Graffs. Strolling into their armory and saying “Hi, I’m Rose of Sharon Cassidy, I heard you wanted me dead?” might possibly be a bad idea. I’m feeling pretty mad about it though, so Vi it is.

I’ve not gone more than a few steps when two unfriendly-looking women in NCR MP uniforms approach me.

“Rose of Sharon Cassidy?” one of them says, in a voice I recognise as _I’m-about-to-arrest-you_. Yeah, I’ve been drunk and disorderly a few times. But I’m not now, so fucked if I know what they want with me. Gotta say I’m not especially keen to find out.  
“Maybe,” I say, stepping lightly back out of their reach, and right into two men behind me who seize my arms and poke guns into my back. I see more MP armbands. Whatever I’ve supposedly done, it’s bad enough that they sent four armed officers to apprehend me.  
“Am I under arrest?” I ask, tiptoeing to look past them for any help from Boone, but he’s out of sight.  
“You’re wanted for questioning,” the first woman says flatly. They frogmarch me towards the door of their headquarters.  
“In relation to..?” I ask.  
“You can talk to the captain about that.” Then she clams up and refuses to be drawn on any further questions.

Inside the headquarters, I’m shoved into a holding cell and left there on my own. A strong smell of disinfectant doesn’t quite cover the stink of vomit and piss.

A minute passes. Then another.

“La la la, stupid shit always happens to me,” I sing tunelessly to myself. I bang on the bars and shout “Hey!” but no one answers. The door to the cells area is so solid I doubt they even hear me.

A minute or three later the door opens and the same two women come and unlock my cell.  
“Interview with the Captain,” one of them says.  
“What am I accused of?”  
“Treason, they’re saying.”  
“What?!”  
“Fraternizing with the enemy, to be precise,” says the other, handcuffing me to herself.  
“Oh good grief.” 

I think I know what this is about. They’ve found out that Vi and I have been up at Fortification Hill, making nice with the Legion, and they can’t get Vi, so they’re going for me instead.

I’m taken through some corridors and then pushed into a bright office in which an attractive, dark-haired woman in a green beret is standing at the window, talking to a similarly-uniformed man. She turns to look at me as I enter. Her namebadge identifies her as Captain Pappas. 

“Siddown,” she commands, taking a seat herself on the other side of a huge desk half-covered in stacks of papers.

This is bullshit. I stay standing and say, “Listen, lady, I don’t give a good god damn what your remit is, I’m not an NCR citizen, I never worked for you people, you got no jurisdiction over me. So take your flunky’s mitts off me and let me be on my way. Right fucking now.”  
“Sit... down,” she repeats.  
“Fuck... you,” I say. Damn the torpedoes.  
One of the officers holding me smacks the side of my head and I kick her in the shin hard enough to drop her. I yank the handcuff on my right hand to unbalance the other one and give her a swift rabbit punch to the ear; she’ll be hearing white noise on that side for a few hours.

While this ruckus is going on, Pappas jumps up, the man at the window to my side turns around to watch, Pappas trains her service pistol on me and that’s the end of that.

Remind me to carry my shotgun to breakfast in future.

I’m pushed down into the chair, and Pappas sits too, putting away her gun and giving me a hard stare. She makes a small gesture and the woman I’m cuffed to removes the cuffs.

Pappas dismisses the two officers, and as they close the door the man at the window walks around to stand behind her, leaning insouciantly against the wall. He gives me a friendly smile as though he knows me. He does know me, at least in the biblical sense. It is Vulpes Inculta. I stare at him dumbly, not quite able to believe my eyes. He gives me a little finger-wave. His eyes are full of mischief.

Pappas gives me another hard look.  
“I’m Captain Marie Pappas, I’m in charge of this station, and this is Special Investigator Major Samuel Wright, from NCR City,” Pappas says, indicating Inculta.  
“Is that Wright,” I say. Hah, nice pun, Cassidy. I grin; and behind Pappas, Inculta grins back at me.  
“We have received information that you were recently seen in the company of a man named Vulpes Inculta, of Caesar’s Legion,” Pappas says carefully. “A man who has committed such extreme crimes against the NCR that he has earned himself a ranking of first equal with Caesar himself on our shitlist.”  
Inculta pretends to look flattered, for my amusement. I suppress my laugh and try not to look at him. OK, I take it back about stupid things happening to me – this is hilarious.

Pappas leans forward. “If you were with Vulpes Inculta, we need to know every single thing about it. We lack information on him and I want everything you’ve got. What he looked like, what he said, what you said, every detail. So start talking.”  
“Well, let’s see. He’s a handsome son of a gun,” I say.  
“De-tail,” enunciates Pappas, unamused.  
“ _Very_ handsome,” I say.  
“Don’t mess with me,” she grinds out.  
“Tall, dark and handsome. Not unlike your henchman here,” I say, waving a hand at Inculta.  
“Eye colour?” she asks.  
“Couldn’t rightly say... something nice, whatever it was. It was kinda dark.”  
“Dark?”  
“Yeah, well I was up there at night.”  
Pappas asks, “You stayed the night with him?”  
Before I can answer, Inculta speaks. “Did you fuck him?”  
“Uh...”  
“Answer the question,” Pappas prods.  
“I may have.” I’m not usually the blushing type but I think my cheeks just reddened a little.  
“Did you like it?” he asks. He’s not smiling now. I think he actually wants to know the answer.  
“Yes.”  
He stares at me thoughtfully.

Pappas regards me with mixed horror and disgust. “The fuck did you think you were doing,” she says.  
“How’s this your business, again?” I shoot back.  
Pappas lifts her gun and fondles it. “I oughta put you down,” she says.

Inculta steps forward. “Captain, I’ll take it from here. You may leave; I’ll call for you if I require your further assistance.”  
Pappas looks surprised, but she obeys his order. She has to, he’s the ranking officer. If only she knew.

After she’s gone, Inculta sits in her chair, rests his chin on knitted fingers and looks at me. Then he picks up a pad of blank paper and a pencil, as though intending take notes.  
“What did he do to you?” he asks mildly, looking at the paper, then up at me.  
Ohh... I see how this is playing out. We’re going to have a little game of dirty talk. Nice. I’m up for it.  
“He fucked me every which way there is,” I reply. He makes some marks on the paper, tilted so I can’t see.  
“Did you like his body?”  
“Yes.”  
“Did you like his cock?”  
“Oh yes indeed”  
“Did you like sucking him?”  
“Yes indeedy.”  
“Did he make you wet?”  
“Soaked.”  
“Have you been with another man since you were with him?”  
“No.”  
“Have you thought about him since then?”  
“Every night.” I hold his gaze.  
“Do you touch yourself when thinking about him?”  
“Hell yes.”  
“Do you want him again?”  
“ _Hell_ yes.”  
“Are you getting wet now, thinking about it?”  
I give him a slow smile.

“Open your shirt,” he says. I unbutton it. He gestures for me to part it, so he can see my tits. I oblige, enjoying the expression of lust that crosses his face for a moment as he gazes on me. He makes more marks on the paper, and I realise he’s sketching me. Semi-nude.  
“Did you like the way he fucked you?” he murmurs, still sketching.  
“Yes I did. Except for one or two things.”  
That takes him by surprise and he looks up at me. “Pray, tell,” he says.  
I say, “Well, he wouldn’t lick me, he wouldn’t so much as touch my clit, and he even refused to let me touch it.”  
“Hm.” His brow knits slightly. “Are those things important to you?”  
“Yup. Those things turn good sex into great sex.”  
“Hm.” He looks at me thoughtfully again. After a long time he says, “Perhaps he could have allowed you to touch yourself.”  
“Perhaps he could have touched me too,” I say pointedly.  
After a pause he says, “Perhaps. But you cannot expect such a man to lick you.”  
“I could forgo licking if I got some good touching.”  
Inculta makes a single nod, and returns to his sketching.

“I have another thing to say,” I venture. Well come on, no one else is gonna tell him.  
“Speak.”  
“He wouldn’t let me ride on top of him, even though it would have been fucking incredible.”  
“A woman should not ride a man, as though he were a beast of burden and she his owner,” he says firmly.  
“You’re missing out on some good times there,” I mutter, but I get the feeling he won’t be moved on this point so I drop it.  
“Do you have any other complaints?” he asks sarcastically.  
“Maybe one. But I’m guessing you don’t really wanna hear it.”  
“Say it.”  
“Never mind.”  
“Say it.” Then he says in a gentler voice, “Please.”  
“Well.. I like to be kissed. If I fuck a guy I like to kiss him, and I like him to kiss me. He didn’t kiss me all night.”  
Now Inculta looks flummoxed. “Kissing is important to you?” he asks, as though it were a strange request.  
“I like it. Don’t you?”  
“I’m not sure,” he says. He stares at me a moment longer. “Come here,” he says softly.

I get up and move over to him. He puts down the sketch, stands up, and clasps my shoulders, letting his hands run slowly up my neck to my face. Pulling me to him, he kisses me gently, tilting his face to the left, an unusual choice. I have the impression he is not all that experienced at kissing, so I tentatively show him the way I like it, careful not to scare his delicate Legion sensibilities.

Some sweet, sweet facetime later, he lays me back over Pappas’ desk and fucks me, fast and silently. He pulls my hand to my clit and watches as I rub it, then moves my hand away and tries to emulate my movements. He’s a quick study. I lose my mind while he watches.

“Kissing, yes; touching, yes. Licking, no. Riding, no,” he states, as we rearrange our clothes afterwards.  
“Fair enough,” I reply. I’m not gonna argue – it’s amazing enough that he even wants to meet me halfway. I’ll sell him on the licking and riding sometime in the future, anyway. If we have a future... wait, what the fuck are you talking about, Cassidy? Fuck’s sake. There’s no future here. He’s just playing a game.

We sit down again in our respective chairs.  
“Did you have a meeting with Craig Boone, before you came here?” he asks, out of the blue.  
“How did you know that?”  
“I saw you, out of the window.”  
“Oh. Yeah, I ran into him. He had some weird news for me, actually.”  
Inculta raises his eyebrows inquisitively.  
I explain, “You know those energy weapon dealers down in Freeside, the Van Graff siblings?”  
“At the Silver Rush.”  
“That’s the ones. Apparently they have a contract out on me. I have no idea why.”  
Inculta strokes his bottom lip and narrows his eyes, staring at me. Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about that. He might want to cash in on the easy money. Oh shit, oh shit –  
“Every life has its price, but not every life is worth buying; so if the devil makes an offer for yours, you should take that as a compliment,” he muses, the flicker of humour back in his eyes. “Leave it to me. I’ll deal with it; in the meantime stay away from them.”  
Phew. Guess he doesn’t need the caps. Seriously, Cassidy, sharpen up.

Inculta stands up, tucking his sketch of me into his inside jacket pocket, and putting on his beret. In his immaculate NCR MP uniform he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He takes a small device out of the same pocket, fiddles with it for a moment, and then hands it to me. It’s a mini-radio.  
“Keep it on this frequency, switch it on when you get out of sight of here, and keep it on. I will be in touch,” he instructs.

He summons some guards to escort me out of the building, and I head home to the Lucky 38.

Vi isn’t home. I crack open another beer, lie on my bunkbed and stare at the ceiling. My free hand drifts south, under my belt, down to where ‘Major Wright’s cum is still soaking me. I rub lazily, remembering the sweet way he practised touching me.

It’s funny... I love the males of our species, but I’m not usually a stickler for any one male in particular. This one is different. This one is getting interesting.


	7. Chapter 7

I spend the evening in self-imposed exile up in the cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38. I don’t want to confront Vi until after I see what Inculta means to do, and I don’t feel like going outside and exposing myself to being arrested by the NCR again; and/or picked off by whoever else the Van Graffs might have offered the contract to.

What did he mean by “I’ll deal with it”... is he going to threaten them? Kill them? Take some other woman’s head to them and say it’s me? None of these seem like good ideas. The Silver Rush, being an armory, is bound to be extremely well-guarded; and the Van Graff siblings are notoriously nasty. If Inculta goes in, whether with threats, bullets or trickery, he won’t come out alive no matter how fast he is. And that would be a shame, ‘cos I’m getting quite fond of the crazy fucker. He gave me a good laugh today, and that’s something that’s been sorely missing from my life in the last few years.

At around 11pm the tiny radio hisses into life, and an unmistakeable voice speaks.  
 _“What’s in a name? That which we call a Rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”_

I grab it from the table and fumble for the transmit key.  
 _“Don’t know how sweet I smell, but I’m here.”_  
 _“Would you like to meet me for a drink at the Atomic Wrangler? Say, five minutes?”_  
That surprises me, but I willingly agree. Any plan that involves a drink is alright by me.

I grab my gun and run out, making it to the Wrangler in three and a half minutes. James Garrett the barman brings me my usual and I wait, looking all around me every few seconds. Not exactly secret agent material.

One and a half minutes later, Inculta comes in, dressed in a suit and old style hat. He ignores me and goes up to Garrett, handing him some caps and murmuring something, then walks out again. I slip off my chair to follow him, pulling out a note to pay for my whisky.  
Garrett refuses the note. “That guy just paid for your drink,” he says, jerking a thumb at the door.

Outside, I see no one. I rush to the corner and catch sight of him walking slowly towards the gates to leave the city. What is he up to? Taking me to some deserted location to nix me? Nah, he could do that anywhere. I walk as fast as I can without running, and catch up with him just outside the gates.

“Hey,” I pant, matching his stride. He keeps walking and doesn’t say anything, just gives me a sidelong glance. We walk together over to the remains of the old highway overpass that runs along close to one side of Freeside, and climb up onto it. Two large black dogs are sitting quietly on top. Cassiopeia and Silence. As we move past them they get up and follow us.  
“Which one’s Cass?” I ask.  
Inculta points at one of them. “Cassiopeia,” he corrects me.  
“Which means what?”  
“It’s a constellation. The ‘seated queen’.” He pauses, glancing into the starry sky. “It’s not up yet. I can show it to you another night, if you like.”  
Oh my. That almost sounds like a date.

We climb over huge broken chunks of concrete in the moonlight, and pass over narrow strips where there’s not much more than a few rusted rods of twisted high-strength iron holding the overpass together. One section is so broken away that I freeze to the spot, too scared to cross. The dark ground is broken concrete and rocks, far below. Inculta holds out his hand and I reach for it. He grips my wrist hard, and pulls me across, into his arms for a fleeting moment before he steadies me and moves on. My heart is beating fast; only partly because of the frightening drop below us.

The dogs jump lightly across, and we continue our way, till we are right opposite the top floor of the Silver Rush, only about thirty yards away, at the most, from the windows to the Van Graff’s private quarters.

Inculta pushes me down flat on my belly and lies down next to me, so close that the side of his leg is touching mine. Tucked into the lip of the road right in front of us is a dirty old bundle of cloth, out of which he pulls a laser rifle fitted with sights. He rests the rifle on the lip of the road and lines up the sights. The dogs crouch behind us, making no sound.

I look at the windows. One has a light on, but no one is in the room. It’s a bedroom, of sorts. The bedroom of a very unusual person. The sheets on the bed are bright scarlet and shiny. All around the bed are are chains and whips, and all kinds of objects on the tables and floor, most clearly sex-play related, plus a lot of guns and ammo.

We wait an indeterminate time. It’s damned cold up here. I suppress a sneeze. Inculta takes off his jacket and hands it to me. I put it on gratefully. Just then the door of the bedroom opens and Gloria Van Graff and her psycho brother Jean-Baptiste Cutting enter. We duck down low and watch.

Jean-Baptiste goes into another door off the bedroom and a light comes on in a small, opaque window next to it. Probably a bathroom. Gloria clears the bed of debris and straightens the sheets. Jean-Baptiste comes back naked, with a freakily large hard-on, and goes to his sister, stripping off her armor in a proprietary manner, and rubbing her naked body. Gloria purrs and smiles, and starts putting on some kind of bizarro outfit, all made of shiny black rubber and buckles with open bits to show off her tits and make available all her orifices. Jean-Baptiste starts jerking himself as he watches her.

Oh boy. This is first-class entertainment, by my book. I sneak a look at Inculta. He glances back at me, a wicked smile in his eyes.  
“Odd behaviour, for a brother and sister,” I whisper.  
He agrees with a twitch of one eyebrow.

We watch as Gloria bends over the bed and Jean-Baptiste takes a whip to her ass. She’s moaning so loud we can hear her through the closed windows. He drops the whip and starts to fuck her from behind. She yells at him to fuck her harder.

Inculta moves his eye down to the gun sights again. He’s lining up a shot. I don’t know if he’s going to go for Gloria or her brother. She’s the boss, but he’s the executioner. It might not be possible to get both of them - depends how fast Inculta can aim and how fast they can react.

His finger curls around the trigger, but before he pulls it, they change position. Jean-Baptiste stops fucking Gloria and goes over to get something from a table. Gloria crawls further onto the bed, on all fours with her reddened ass still in the air. Jean-Baptiste comes back with several items and dumps them on the bed next to her. He gags Gloria, and then attaches some kind of metal bar between her knees, so she can’t close her legs. Then he picks up a large, oblong object with a red tip and a familiar shape. Woah... it’s a _missile_. He smears grease on it, and then starts to push it between Gloria’s legs.

Next to me, Inculta looks up from the sights. From the look on his face, even he is a little stunned. We watch as Jean-Baptiste forces the missile all the way into Gloria, and she squirms with evident pleasure. He ties a strap to hold it inside her, and moves around to kneel in front of her, pulling off her gag and cramming his oversized dick into her open mouth.

Well, well, well. This is neat. I’m dying to see what else they do, but Inculta has his eye back on the laser rifle’s sights. He is perfectly still. He squeezes the trigger so gently his finger barely appears to move.

Gloria Van Graff’s body glows like a sun for a moment, then crumbles into glowing ash. Jean-Baptiste’s dick is left hanging in the air, singed and smoking. He’s staring at the ashes, where the missile is still intact, glowing and pulsing with latent energy.

As we watch, Jean-Baptiste’s mouth forms an O, and the missile explodes deafeningly in a spectacular burst of light, shattering the room and showering the surrounding area with broken concrete, glass, sex toys, and bits of Jean-Baptiste.

Sweet fucking mercy. Funniest thing I ever saw, in thirty-seven years.

Inculta turns to me, face shining with pure delight, the reflection of falling sparks in his eyes.

He looks like he just won the universe. He kinda did, if there was a prize for Most Mindfuckingly Hilarious Assassination in the History of Ever. He grabs me and slaps my back. I point at my lips. He obliges me with a kiss, and I feel like I won a bit of universe too.


	8. Chapter 8

Vulpes Inculta has, I’m coming to appreciate, the best and most roguish sense of fun I ever encountered. He has that magical kind of personality who can entertain himself, anytime, anyplace, and if you have the pleasure of his company and are lucky enough to be in his good graces he’ll entertain you too.

I want him more than anything.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m shit-scared of him.

But that just makes me want him even more.

***

He takes me back to his lair. Like everything about him, it’s unexpected, and perfect.

No, not a suite at the Gomorrah. It’s in an abandoned building just outside the city limits. The place is bare, long since stripped of anything remotely useable. We wend our way through empty offices until we reach one that is bolted and padlocked. Inculta unlocks it and lets me in. Inside is nothing much, just a room with an old rug on the floor. There’s an open balcony on one side, and another door on the far side. A dog water bowl lies on the balcony, the water in it reflecting moonlight. Inculta opens a panel in the wall, taking out an armful of blankets. The dogs stay behind, curling up together on the rug, while Inculta goes through the second door, into an empty, square room that has no windows, and no roof. It’s so strange. Just four blank walls, almost invisible in the night, and above us an ocean of stars.

He lays down the blankets and fashions a bed for us. I watch, fascinated to be in his private world, trembling with anticipation of what is to come. It’s a brisk night, but I’m too excited to notice the cold anymore, and he mustn’t mind it either since he chooses to sleep here rather than the more protected room next door.

He beckons me and I go to embrace him. He pushes me to my knees on the blankets, and stands in front of me, unbuttoning his fly and pulling my mouth to his hard dick. I lick my lips, then try to take as much of him into my mouth as I can, sucking hard.

Above me, his face is a dark silhouette, surrounded by galaxies. He strokes my hair and I feel like my heart is going to burst into flame.

After a short while he says, quietly, “Since you told me today how you like to be touched, perhaps you would allow me to do the same.” 

What..? What is he suggesting? The patent Cassidy blowjob, beloved across the wastes... actually not that good?  
“Go ahead,” I say, trying not to sound miffed.  
“Lick your fingers like this.” He demonstrates licking from the tip of his thumb all the way to the tip of his index finger. “And circle me here. Do the same with your other hand.”  
I comply, holding his shaft with both wetted hands, one over the other.  
“Put your mouth to your fingers. You don’t need to squeeze, nor suck hard. Just move your mouth and your hands, together, up and down, that’s it. Hm. Rose..? Don’t suck. You don’t need to suck at all. Just move, and stroke it with your tongue. Mm. _That’s_ it.”

I can’t believe it. I let go of him again to ask, “So why the fuck are guys always saying ‘suck my dick’ if they don’t like being sucked?”  
“I don’t know what other men like. And it need not matter to you anymore either. This is what I like.” His hand goes back to stroking my hair.

Need not matter to me anymore? Ohh, no. Don’t say stuff like that, manipulative bastard.

Ok, I admit it, my heart jumped at his implication, but I shush it. Chances are I will never see him again, despite hints to the contrary. Some guys are great at dropping hints. Red herrings, wild goose chases, outright lies.

Nope, I won’t get my goddamned fool hopes up. I’ll take what he offers, sure, but I’ll kill my feelings. Whisky’s good that way.


	9. Chapter 9

Very early the next morning, before the sun has even broached the horizon, I open my eyes, and understand why he likes this room.

The walls are white and featureless, and the sky overhead is a brilliant, dark electric blue. It’s beautiful. There’s no sound. It’s the most tranquil place I’ve ever experienced.

Something tickles me between my legs. I reach down and my hand comes back wet and slippery. My mouth tastes of cum too, and my body is bruised and hurts when I move. Inculta gave me one hell of a thrashing last night, and I loved every moment of it.

Thinking of him makes my chest feel strange. Butterflies, I think they call it? Not felt that sensation since... hmm. Since my sixteenth birthday. Yeah, there’s a story there, I’ll tell you another time. Maybe.

I want him now, but he’s not here. I get up and go looking in the other room. No dogs, and no man. So he does go off to spread chaos at the crack of dawn sometimes after all.

I put away the blankets, lock the door on my way out, and head for home. I feel all excited and jittery, and break into a run, just to kill off some of those pesky butterflies. I burst out laughing as I run. Probably look like a madwoman, but there’s no one around to see.

The wasteland at dawn is actually kinda gorgeous.

***

When I get inside the Lucky 38 and catch my breath I go up in the lift to the 22nd floor, where Vi and I live.

Vi isn’t around but there’s a dude in the lounge, a doctor I recognise as a casual friend of Vi’s. He’s a good guy, bit of an acid tongue sometimes. He’s got some weird name I can never remember.  
“Marquee?” I try.  
“Arcade,” he replies drily.  
“Oh yeah, sorry. Where’s Vi?”  
“Gone down to the Wrangler to pick up some more booze.” He indicates the empty wine bottle on the table in front of him, two smudged glasses next to it.  
I sit down. “You guys been up all night?”  
“I finished a shift at the clinic at 4am. Vi was dancing at the Gomorrah all night. That’s where I ran into her.”  
“Huh.” I close my eyes and stretch out on the sofa. My body is sore from the punishment Inculta meted out last night.

I wonder where he is now...

I’m almost asleep, when the doctor speaks again. “Why do you always pretend you don’t know my name?”  
“Uh. I’m not pretending. Sorry.. Arcade. My brain just doesn’t hold names too well.”  
“Your brain would hold everything a lot better if you stopped making your own over-proof moonshine. That stuff is lethal.”  
“Thank you, doctor. Duly noted.” How does he even know about that? I keep my still in the back of the bathroom, round a corner and behind a curtain. Vi’s probably been gabbing about me. We haven’t been getting on quite so well since we got back from Fortification Hill.  
“Ok yeah, well. I gotta go to bed, g’night,” I mutter, getting up to leave.

I’m in the bathroom washing myself when Vi comes in all excited.  
“Hey, Cass-hole! I just came from the Wrangler and you would not fucking believe what’s going on down there, some maniac bombed the Silver Rush last night! The whole top floor of the building is blown up and there’s weird shit all over the ground. I’m pretty sure I stepped over an ear, and something that I thought was a giant penis, but when I looked closer - it was a strap-on!”  
Grr. I hate it when she calls me Cass-hole.  
“I didn’t know they sold those there,” I grunt, “or I might have shopped there more often.”  
“Ha ha! Oh my god. It’s kind of a shame though. Gloria owed me some money. Won’t be collecting now, there are looters crawling all over the building.”  
“She didn’t owe you for me, I’m still alive,” I say pointedly.  
“Uhh...” Her grin slides sideways and drops. “So you heard about that.”  
“Why didn’t I hear it from you?”  
“I wasn’t gonna do it, Cass.”  
“Right, so why didn’t you tell me?”  
“I didn’t wanna give you the shits, that’s all. I need you on top of your game, not freaking out.”  
“Pretty piss-poor explanation, if you ask me. If you weren’t going to do it, sooner or later they’d get someone who would. The right thing to do was at least warn me. Or better still, nuke the fuckers.” I gesture in the general direction of Freeside.

Vi stares at me, her head turning a little, the way it does when a suspicion occurs to her.  
“Cass..? Did you dynamite the Silver Rush?”  
“No.”  
Her eyes narrow, but I have the face of honesty. It’s true, after all.  
“...and it wasn’t dynamite, it was a missile,” I say, uncorking my bottle and taking a big swig of whisky. I’ve never been great at keeping secrets.  
Her eyes bore holes into me. “Who?”

I shrug, swilling the alcohol around my mouth and making my gums tingle. I like to think I’m ‘sterilising’ them. Well, I never get toothache, so it could be.  
“That place was a fortress. Who do you know that could do something like that?” Her eyes have drilled right through me now, and are working on the fixtures behind me. Then, understanding dawns on her face.  
“No..!” she breathes. She’s annoyingly perceptive sometimes.  
“Night,” I say, beginning to head out. I’m dog tired.

“Hold it.” She grabs my arm. “So, what. Vulpes Inculta, is that who? Seriously? What, he your boyfriend now?”  
I can’t help but laugh at that. If he heard her describe him that sappy way he’s probably execute us both.  
“Of course not, he’s just...” I break off, wondering what he is to me. A friend? Not exactly. “An acquaintance,” I offer.  
“Bullshit. _Acquaintances_ don’t go around committing serious fucking acts of mayhem for each other. No way. You’ve got something with him, and after I told you not to. You promised never to see him again.”  
“I did not.”  
“I told you not to. And I’m your boss, remember? I pay you to do what I say.”  
“Why do you care, Vi? Take the money Gloria owed you out of my wages, if you want.”  
Vi scowls. “Fuck Gloria. I’m talking about you seeing a Legion spy behind my back. He’s using you to get to me.”  
“I’m not officially ‘seeing’ him, and he never asks me about you, anyway.”  
“He’s officially using you, Cass. Don’t you get that? Why else would he be trying to get close to you? Listen, you don’t see him again, ok? This is the last warning I’ll give you. He comes near you again, you back the fuck away, and tell me immediately. Got it?”

This puts me in a difficult position. I need the job. I’ve got habits to feed, of which eating is just one. But I can’t promise that I won’t see him again; I had no choice about today’s surprise arrest, after all. Who knows what other stunts he may be planning to pull on me?

And oh fuck, if she knew what being ‘used’ by him felt like? She’d be chasing him like a dog chases a hare. I had more fun with him today than I’ve had with anyone in years... maybe ever, lemme think. Yeah. Ever. So I’m not gonna say no, if he fancies using me some more.

“I’ll tell you, if I see him again,” I promise, hedging my bets. Memo to self: keep an eye out for a new job.


	10. Chapter 10

☢ _Alpha Fox. Come in Whisky Rose. Over._ ☢ 

 

I go up to the cocktail lounge floor, my sanctuary, and doze for a while on a sofa, until the tiny radio, forgotten in the pocket of my jeans, starts making a dull hiss.  
 _“Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose.”_  
I rush to drag the radio out of my pocket and press transmit.  
 _“Girl in every port?”_ I quip.  
 _“What do you mean?”_  
 _“Those names, they your other girls?”_ My joke suddenly seems lame.  
There’s a pause. _“It is the name of a painting. You should try opening a pre-war book sometime.”_ Another pause. _“And I don’t have other girls.”_ He sounds a little pissed off now.

Well, fuck. I was dying to talk to him, but this conversation isn’t going very well.  
 _“Er. Sooo... Where are ya?”_ I ask, trying to sound bright and perky, but only succeeding in sounding desperate. I make a gun out of my fingers and shoot myself in the head.  
 _“Travelling back to base. You?”_  
 _“38.”_  
There’s a long pause, and I start to wonder if the conversation is over. No, no, no -

Then he says, _“Are you alone?”_  
 _“Yes.”_  
 _“Are you naked?”_  
 _“I can be in fifteen seconds.”_  
 _“Go.”_  
My clothes go flying. _“Done.”_  
 _“Twenty-one seconds. You need practice.”_  
 _“Maybe you can help me with that.”_  
 _“Mm. Touch yourself.”_  
Sweet. _“On it.”_  
 _“Get in it.”_  
Oh my. I plunge my fingers in. _“In it.”_  
His voice gets softer. _“Do I make you wet?”_  
 _“Yes. And... well, I’m still soaked in your juices.”_  
 _“Lick your fingers, then.”_  
I do what he says, and taste his cum again. _“Mmm. Ohh. OK, get back here.”_  
I hear the smile in his voice. _“Not today. I’m going to be inside you again though, Rose. Count on it.”_

***

Since I only promised to tell her if I saw him again, I rationalise that I don’t have to tell Vi about the radio contact. 

I find myself thinking about Inculta constantly, wanting him to call me, wanting to call him but resisting the impulse. The damn butterflies in my chest won’t stop flying around, headbutting my heart, all the time, even during the night. I need to swallow some pesticide.

Three days pass, by which time I am nearly going out of my mind, and it is all I can do not to press transmit and yell “Where the fuck are you? Get here and do me NOW!”

At two a.m. on the third night, contact.

The radio is beside my pillow, and his soft, lyrical voice comes across so clearly over the night-time radiowaves, unblurred by solar radiation, that it sounds like he’s right next to me.

 _“Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose.”_  
 _“Hey, yeah. Uh. I’m here.”_ I feel instantly awake, but my voice sounds croaky and sleepy.  
 _“Were you asleep?”_  
 _“No. Yes. A bit.”_  
 _“I want you.”_  
 _“I want you, too. Are you nearby?”_ I close my eyes, mentally crossing my fingers.  
 _“No.”_  
 _“Ah damnit.”_ Oops did I just say that out loud? Damnit!  
Inculta makes a little chuckle. _“You miss me?”_  
 _“Yeah. Not much excitement round here since you left town.”_  
 _“Good. I don’t want anyone else providing your excitement.”_  
I recognise this as a question. He’s a jealous guy. That’s ok, though. I’ve been known to suffer from jealousy a little myself. _“There’s no one else,”_ I tell him, and it’s true.  
 _“Good.”_ Pause. _“Are you alone?”_  
 _“Yes. Wanna know what I’m wearing?”_  
 _“Of course.”_  
 _“A smile.”_  
 _“Ha.”_  
 _“And a t-shirt and a pair of panties.”_  
 _“Mm. Pull the t-shirt over your breasts.”_  
 _“Done.”_  
 _“Make your nipples hard.”_  
 _“They already are.”_  
 _“Lick your fingers and pinch them. Imagine I am sucking on them.”_  
 _“Mm.”_ I close my eyes and feel the throbbing in my pussy that means I am going to get very, very wet.  
 _“Put your hand between your legs.”_  
 _“Mm.”_  
 _“Stroke yourself, the way you did on the Captain’s desk.”_  
 _“Ohh.”_  
His voice gets softer. _“I want to fuck you, Rose. I want to fuck you, till you scream and cry, till my cock runs red with your blood and you still beg me for more.”_  
My eyes pop open, but I don’t stop my smooth circular strokes around my swollen clit. He’s doing that thing again, the thing where he scares me shivery but makes me so horny at the same time that I’d do anything, take anything, just to have him inside me.  
 _“I’m not much the screaming crying type, but you can sure as hell fuck me rigid anytime you want,”_ I respond.  
 _“I’m going to fuck you to breaking point.”_ He’s starting to sound breathier now, and I know he’s jerking himself to thoughts of me. Nice. Pull hard on that long dick, you fucking beautiful, fucking psycho, fucking machine.  
 _“Put your fingers in your cunt.”_  
I move my hand down from my nipple, and thrust into myself. _“Uhh.”_  
 _“Now put your fingers in your ass.”_  
What? _“Er..”_  
 _“Do it.”_  
So I do it. It feels weird, but good too. It makes me want him to fuck me in the ass again, which I guess is his point.  
I tell him so. _“Feels nice, but oh man I want your dick in there.”_  
 _“Patience, Rose.”_ He cuts out. Ejaculating somewhere. Goddamn I wish it was in me. I think back to how he fucked me the night we met, pressing me down and taking me hard in the ass, and I shudder to a climax too.

Then I can’t think for the life of me what to say. He doesn’t say anything either though, which makes me worry that the contact is already over; and I’m not ready to say goodbye quite yet. I’m desperate for a clue, where he is, when I will see him again, anything. Pathetic, huh.  
 _“What was it you said, at the beginning, far off secret something?”_ I ask, just to keep him talking.  
 _“Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose. It is the first line of a poem.”_  
 _“Did you write it?”_  
There’s a pause, and when he speaks again there’s a smile in his voice, and I know he’s been laughing.  
 _“I wish that I could write like Yeats.”_  
I don’t know what or who Yates is and I don’t ask. There’s no point me pretending to know or care anything about poetry. Still, it’s kinda nice, in a quaint sort of way, to have a fella quote it to me. It’s old-school romantic. Yet another unexpected aspect of my strange new beau.  
 _“Goodnight, Rose.”_  
Damn. Too slow. _“Goodnight.”_


	11. Chapter 11

They say you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink. I say, why the hell would they, when there’s good whisky around.

Ah hell. You know that feeling, where you know you’ve got to do something, but even though you really need to do it, you just cannot make yourself? I have it, but it’s the opposite. With me, when I know I really shouldn’t do something, and it’s going to be very bad for me, I go right on and do it.  
Thus the boozing.  
Thus the fondness for dick.  
Thus Vulpes Inculta.

Inculta doesn’t radiosex me again, to my increasing dismay. I wait three days, same as he took last time, but get nothing. As the days go by, I drink more and more heavily.

While this is happening, or rather not happening, Vi is getting ready to do battle with the NCR and the Legion at Hoover Dam. I don’t know exactly what her plans are because she won’t tell me. That doctor guy has been around a lot, and they have huddled conferences that I’m not invited to.

On the fourth day, Vi heads out to Hoover Dam. Without me. She takes the doctor instead, and some new friend of hers called Veronica. Vi says I need to stay behind at the 38 to “mind the shop”.

I don’t altogether object to being left behind, since the Dam showdown is probably going to be ugly as hell, but it does make me kinda sad that things are so bad between me and Vi. We used to be good friends. Now, I don’t know why she doesn’t just fire me, I’m no use knocking around here by myself.

Days go by even less distinctively, alone.

I wait three more days, thinking maybe three is a magic number. On the sixth night, I lie awake all night, sipping whisky and waiting for the radio to come to life. It maintains a stony silence.

Fuck him. All that bullshit he fed me. Just a game, like I knew all along. I decide to go out drinking by myself, at the Tops. Nothing too bad can happen to me there.

La la la. Sitting at the bar at the Tops, nursing a tumblerful of better quality whisky than I’m used to, I try to feel upbeat. Some guys make eyes at me and I make eyes back. They come over to chat. As soon as a hand touches my thigh, I realise I don’t feel upbeat, I don’t want to be here and I don’t want these men.

I want one, particular man. And damn him to hell at that.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning Vi, the doctor and Veronica arrive back from the Dam, hale, hearty and full of stories. Apparently they chased the overstretched and under-resourced NCR away with relative ease - with the help of some heavy threats in the form of the Lucky 38’s army of weaponised securitrons.

But the strange things was, the Legion didn’t show. They were expected to be there, making their grab once the NCR started to retreat, but they didn’t. Vi went up to Fortification Hill looking for them, and they were still camped there. Caesar refused to see her. She asked to see Vulpes Inculta instead, and he came out to meet her. According to Vi, Inculta told her the Legion was no longer interested in Hoover Dam or New Vegas, and had set their sights elsewhere. He assured her that the Legion would be completely out of the Mojave region within a fortnight.

I listen to all this, and secretly feel relief. I hadn’t admitted it to myself before, but I was afraid Inculta would die in the battle.

But wait a minute - if he wasn’t preparing for battle, what the hell has he been doing?

The next morning, after another all-nighter angsting about what he was doing and who he was touching, I crack.  
Transmit.  
Then I don’t know what to say or even how to address him. _“Major Wright?”_ I tentatively ask.  
Silence.  
I wiggle the transmit button, check the frequency, test the batteries, and try calling him a few more times, but no response comes.  
All that time resisting calling him, and he’s not listening anyway. Now I really feel like shit.

Eventually I get up and go out, walking down the street in an alcoholic daze of disappointment and self-recrimination.

Two fit men look me up and down and nod appreciatively as I pass them. Ordinarily, I might wink at them, and maybe get myself a nice threesome. A dick around back and another in front usually cheers me right up.

But today, like at the Tops, I don’t have the heart for it. Whisky has failed me. Despite my conscious efforts not to, I think I’ve... oh hell, I can hardly bear to say it. I think I’ve fallen in.. thing. I can’t say it. I thing him. I’m hopelessly in thing with him. And I want him to thing me back. It’s so dumb, because with my luck, it could never have turned out remotely well anyway. Nope... whichever way, it’s just going to be a deep, dark trough of despair and humiliation.

I walk aimlessly, swigging from my bottle, till I’m nearing the gates between Freeside and the wasteland. The Gun Runners are just outside of here, so I decide to go visit Craig Boone, thank him for his tip-off about the Van Graffs, and maybe get some unlucky-in-thing commiseration from another miserable soul.

Boone is there, wearing ear muffs and test firing some big new gun the Runners are developing. 

He can’t hear me so I go up and poke him on the shoulder. Bad idea. He freaks and pistol-whips me before he sees who it is.

Good thing whisky dulls physical pain too. I’m bleeding, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. Boone picks me up, apologising profusely, and walks me over to the shade to sit down. He gets us glasses of purified water, and we shoot the breeze for a while, interspersed with more apologies from Boone. I hold a rag to the cut on my temple and say don’t worry about it, I needed a good smacking anyway.

“You who vapourised the Van Graffs?” he asks after a while.  
“No. Someone did it for me.”  
He raises his eyebrows. It’s a rare thing for Boone to look interested in anything. “Yeah?”  
I may be drunk but I’m not too drunk to know that if I told him who, he’s probably test fire his new weapon into my skull. “Yeah, a guy I thought liked me.”  
“Thought?”  
“He hasn’t talked to me for over a week. No explanation, no ‘see ya later’, nothing.”  
“Hm. Well.. maybe he’s got something going on.”  
“Yeah. Something in some other chick’s pussy.”  
“Wouldn’t have thought you’d be the jealous type.”  
“Oh, I can be.” Oh yes indeed. I once shot at a rival. Not my proudest moment.  
“If he blasted the Van Graffs for you, he must like you a heck of a lot, Cass. No easy task, taking them out.”  
“Meh. He’s the kind of guy that’s child’s play to.”  
“Yeah? Who is he? Gun Runners’re looking for good new men.”

Hmm. Man, check. Good? Well, by some definitions. Interested in a job at the Gun Runners? Ha, ha, ha.  
“He’s just a guy,” I mutter. “Doesn’t matter. Doubt I’ll see him again, anyway.”

I say goodbye to Boone, and watch for a little while as he fires the new prototype at a burned-out bus. It’s some kind of anti-materiel rifle. Scarily effective.

I feel better for having spent some time with a fellow misanthrope.

Nowhere to go but back into town. I turn, and am just about to round the corner when the two men I saw checking me out earlier get on either side of me and grab me by the arms. One shows me a hunting knife and pushes it to my throat. Nonetheless, I scream out for Boone’s help, experiencing a sense of déjà vu as I do.

Just like last time, Boone doesn’t come to the rescue. This time not because he’s gotten too far away, he’s actually quite near, but he’s facing away and can’t hear me through his industrial ear protection. He aims and fires again, the bus flips again with a huge crash, and the men hoist me up a few inches off the ground and pull me away towards some abandoned buildings.

Guess I’ll be having that threesome after all.


	13. Chapter 13

Turns out, they’re not after sex. Instead they seem intent on taking me somewhere, fast. Where, I don’t know. We’re going cross country, south east. I’m so zombified from sleepless nights, excessive boozing and that crack on the head from Boone that I barely notice. They take me to a couple of brahmin, one with saddlebags, one without, and heave me up onto the second one, hog-tying me to it.

I curse them, threaten them, demand to know where we’re going, but they won’t speak to me or answer my questions; the main one of which is, am I being sold into slavery? Because if so, they can just kill me right now. That or I’ll find a way to do it myself.  
They just ignore me.

As we travel south I listen to their conversation. They mutter in low voices, a language I don’t understand, but I’m guessing is Latin. This is how the Legion gets their women, after all. I hope they take me to Fortification Hill, instead of the Legate’s Camp. Then, fingers crossed, Inculta might spot me and free me. If he’s so inclined.

When dusk falls, we make camp. There’s no fire and it’s cold. The men chew dried meat and let me have a few scraps.

I ask them again where we are going.  
“Caesar sent for you,” one of them grunts.  
I blink. “Me? I’m not the Courier, you know.”  
“I know. You are Rose of Sharon Cassidy, the Courier’s friend. Caesar sent for you.”  
“Oh, god. Is he doing this to get at Vi, or did he take a shine to me? Cos I’m flattered and everything, but I’m really not interested.”  
“You think anyone fucking cares whether you’re interested? Caesar sent for you. That’s where you’re going.”  
“What does he want with me?”  
The other one pipes up. “Probably to fuck you.” They both snigger at that.  
I’m not too keen on this line of conversation but there’s not a lot I can do about it.  
“I have syphilis,” I say. Worth a shot.  
“Nice try, girlie. Believe me, I know what syphilis looks like,” the first one says. They start talking in Latin again, and ignore me for the rest of the night.

I sleep with my wrists and ankles bound, leaning up against one of the brahmin for warmth. 

My shit luck just got so much shittier, I owe an apology to the universe for not appreciating how good I had it a day ago.


	14. Chapter 14

The next day is spent travelling. The men stay off-road which makes it heavy going in some places. Occasionally we are attacked by creatures, and they kill them off while I cower helplessly against the Brahmin I’m tethered to, disarmed, bound at the wrist and unable to fend for myself. To prevent me yelling for help I’m thoroughly gagged. The sun is hot and the going is hard, but they don’t think to give me a drink of water all day, and I can’t ask for one.

By mid-afternoon lack of water and lack of whisky are making my vision blurry. I stumble a few times, but struggle on.

As the sun starts to set, my knees fold and the Brahmin just drags me along, plodding at the same pace as though I weighed nothing. I writhe but can’t seem to get back onto my feet. The men stop and load my limp body onto the back of the Brahmin, then we continue. Her bony back feels amazingly comfortable. I black out after a few minutes.

I dream that I’m on a boat. It’s pitch black and I can’t see much of anything but I know we’re on a boat because of a strange rocking motion, and the sound of oars drawing through water. A light breeze cools my face. The stars move about crazily above me. I slip into a trance.

Some time later I’m vaguely aware of being carried up a hill in darkness, untied, and then a woman tending to me in lamplight. She makes me drink water, and after a while I revive enough to find my whisky bottle in amongst my things and take a gulp. Sweet, sweet relief.

I drink a lot more water, a bit more whisky, then fall into a deep sleep on a mat on the floor of the woman’s tent.

☢*☢*☢

I awake in a different room, in a large bed, in a much larger tent, and there’s a man sleeping next to me. He’s facing away, but I recognise the shape of his skull.

Thank fuck. He found me.

“Hey,” I try to say, but my voice isn’t working properly and comes out like a dry whisper.  
He turns and looks at me, then rolls over close to me, and smoothes some strands of hair off my face. I’m so glad to see him I can’t tell you.  
“Caesar sent for me,” I say, and I don’t know why but I feel a bit like crying. I don’t, though. Years of practice in suppressing tears pays off once again.  
“Yes,” he says.  
“What does he want with me?” I ask.  
Inculta just smiles. He moves closer and kisses me, just the right way. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss him back, a flood of emotion rushing me.  
He pulls me under him, pressing down forcefully. I separate my legs and enfold him in a tight grip, kissing him all the while. He adjusts his hips and I feel his hard dick sliding gorgeously into me, going in, in, in, till his balls are pressed up against me and he exhales slowly, eyes heavy with desire.  
“I have been missing you,” he whispers.  
I don’t answer. I’m too busy covering every bit of him I can reach with kisses. God I thing this man.  
Slowly, rhythmically, he thrusts into me. “I love fucking you,” he breathes, eyes closed.  
I fucking love you, I almost say, but bite my tongue. “I love being fucked by you,” I whisper instead. And it’s true. I _love_ the way he takes me. His long dick goes so deep in me it makes me shudder, and he knows just how to use it. Slow, smooth movements, building ever so slowly up to deep, hard, just-this-side-of- painful thrusts.

Watching his face as he cums in me, I feel such a thrill that as soon as he pulls out and I can touch my clit, slippery with his semen, I reach ecstasy too, arching my back and biting my lip to hold back a moan. He watches me, breathing roughly, then dips his fingers deep inside me, and puts them in my mouth to watch me suck hungrily at the taste of him.

I begin to notice the room around us. It’s a big upgrade from his old tent. In fact... I’ve got a sneaking feeling, it’s Caesar’s tent.

“Where’s Caesar?” I ask. I don’t really care as long as the answer is: away from here.  
Inculta smiles that strange, knowing smile again. He has a secret joke that I’m not in on yet, but I’m starting to suspect. Caesar is away and he’s borrowing his tent, or Caesar is sick and Vulpes is holding the Fort in the meantime.

“You need to wash,” he says instead, and gets out of bed to dress. He’s in a different uniform today. The same red and black tunic, but now with a thick black animal fur draped over it, and a gold pin with golden leaves around it that looks vaguely familiar. He tells me to wait there, and leaves the room.

Fifteen minutes or so later, two slave women enter the room. They take me by the arm and lead me to an annexed room that contains an old-fashioned metal bath, half full, with embers underneath it. One of them sets about brushing my hair, and the other tests the water.

My hair brushed, I climb into the bath and sink down into the blissfully warm, perfumed water. The women busy themselves trimming and cleaning my fingernails, washing my hair, scrubbing my skin. I’m grimly aware that they’re slaves, and I shouldn’t enjoy it, but I have to admit - it feels pretty nice to be pampered like this.

Then they take straight razors and nearly give me a heart attack shaving my legs, armpits and pubic hair. Vi shaves all that stuff on herself in the name of beauty, but I never usually bother. It’s a nuclear wasteland for fuck’s sake. If you’ve not started to ghoulify yet, you’re beautiful enough, in my book. 

Once they’ve shaved me to perfection and I’m as smooth as a baby molerat they rinse me with bowls of clean water and dry me off.

Hygiene session over, I’m escorted back to the bedroom. As I enter, something I hadn’t noticed before catches my eye; the sketch Inculta made of me is tacked to the tent wall above the head of the bed. Me in the NCRMP HQ, bright-eyed and bare-tittied.

They dress me, not in my own clothes but in a long dress of red cloth, embroidered in complex patterns. It goes over one shoulder, and drapes to the ground.

There’s no mirror in the room, but looking down, the dress looks pretty nice, although I feel alien in it after a lifetime in jeans. Feels a bit like I’m cross-dressing. Still, if I have to, I could do worse.

Hair brushed and dress adjusted, I am finally allowed to leave the room, taking the direction Inculta went in.

Through a door, I find myself in Caesar’s throneroom, and right in front of me is the back of Caesar’s throne, decorated with spears draped with the same embroidered red cloth. There are men standing around, one of whom I recognise as Lucius, talking to Caesar. As I round the corner, I half-know what I am going to see.

I’m not wrong. Inculta is lounging on the throne.

Vulpes Inculta has somehow become Caesar.


	15. Chapter 15

How this could happen, I don’t know. Back when Craig Boone was travelling with us, he said that the NCR’s spies had ascertained that the Legate Lanius was next in line for the throne, and after that Lucius. Vulpes Inculta was third at best - yet here he is, relaxing on the throne, nonchalantly wearing the bearskin, Lucius standing obediently at his side.

When he sees me, Inculta signals to some guards, who go out and immediately come back in with the two men who ambushed me outside the Gun Runners and brought me here. They are made to kneel before the throne.

Inculta addresses them, and his voice is soft but deadly. “My orders were to bring my guest here in good condition. I told you not to touch her, and to make sure that she had every available assistance to make the journey comfortable. Yet I am informed that when she arrived last night, she was gagged and so dehydrated that Siri thought she might die. How do you explain that?” He fixes the men with a piercing stare.  
“We had to gag her because she kept shouting,” one of them says.  
Inculta stares so hard at them that they visibly cower.  
“Amazing stupidity,” he finally says. “When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed in its spirit as well as its letter. You have disobeyed my orders. So. You will experience what it feels like to go without water.” He turns to the guards. “Take them to the stocks and ensure that they are deprived of water for 36 hours, as of now.”  
“Oh that’s not necessary, don’t worry about it,” I interject. I don’t like to see anyone tortured on my account, and I made it here in one piece, after all. Just.

Inculta ignores me completely. “Go,” he snarls at the guards, who pull my hapless abductors away.  
“You don’t have to punish them on my account, I’m alright,” I say again, feeling guilty.  
Inculta watches the men leave the room, then his hard eyes swivel to me. He gestures me close with a finger. Closer, till my ear is right by his mouth.  
He whispers very quietly in my ear, “Go into your room, and stay there till I come for you.” He’s seriously pissed off.

I don’t know which is ‘my’ room, and I daren’t ask, so I just retreat into the one I woke up in.

Lying down on the bed, still in my fancy gown, I stare upside down at his drawing of me, and wonder what the hell is going on.

I seem to be sleeping with Caesar. What the fuck... Am I as bad as Vi, now? No, because when I started this he wasn’t Caesar, he was just a guy. A very scary, very sexy, _very scary_ guy. Now he’s a very scary guy with a vast army at his disposal. Am I free to leave? I wonder. I have no idea.

The sketch he made is good, he’s got real talent. It’s almost photographic, except that he has idealised me. In his depiction my hair is just a bit shinier, my eyes less lined, my lips fuller and my expression dreamier. I wonder if that is how he sees me. _Rose_ -tinted glasses, ha ha.

I’m still pondering these thoughts when he comes in, half an hour later.  
He sits next to me on the bed and gives me a very stern look.  
“Never do that again.”  
“Do what?” I ask.  
“Question or comment on my orders.”  
“I’m sorry. I just thought it wasn’t necessary to –” I break off as he presses a finger to my lips.  
“No. Listen carefully, Rose. You never do that again, or the consequences will be severe. Do you understand that?”  
“I guess so.”  
“I mean severe by _my_ standards, Rose. My personal feelings for you will not protect you. I have been in command for only a week, and it is imperative that I consolidate my authority. I cannot have you or anyone else undermining it. Do you understand?”  
“Uh-huh. Strung up if I say anything about your orders again. I get it.”  
His eyes soften a little. “I would be sorry to see you go that way.”  
“So would I,” I grin nervously.

He lifts my rose pendant and examines it closely. I guess the telling-off is finished.

I ask the question I’ve been dying to ask. “Did you kill Caesar? The old one?”  
“No. He died of a brain haemorrhage. Then Lanius became Caesar, for a day.”  
“You killed him?”  
“Yes.”  
“I thought Lucius would be Caesar after Lanius.”  
Inculta shakes his head slightly. “He never really wanted it. He chose to support me in a coup against Lanius instead.”  
“Huh. That could’ve been a double-cross. Guess it wasn’t. How’s the rest of the Legion taking it?”  
“That occurred to me too, but I took the risk. As for the men, they take whatever I tell them to take.” He smiles faintly. “But they are not unhappy, I think. Lanius was not a popular man.”  
“And you are?”  
His index finger traces the molded metal rosepetals on my pendant. “They barely know me. I am the ‘hidden fox’. But my deeds are well known.”  
“So they are.”

He tucks the pendant back between my breasts, and looks me over.  
“That gown is very fine on you. Do you like it?”  
“Yes, thank you. Not my usual kind of thing, but I do like it.”  
“Good. I had it made for you, because this evening we will hold a great celebration, and you must look the part. In the meantime, you may wish to rest.”  
“Celebrating what?”  
“My accession. And yours.” He gets up to leave. “I will leave a servant with you. Ask for anything you need.”

As soon as he’s out of the room I go for the only thing I need. My beloved whisky bottle. Half empty, now. I wonder, how long am I here for? It dawns on me that I have absolutely no idea what the future holds for me, from this moment on. Not the first time in my life I’ve faced such uncertainty. But this time is different. I have a feeling that it could be something good.

☢*☢*☢

I read a bit, doze a lot, sip whisky occasionally and water often. I hear the murmuring voices of men in the throneroom, but I make a point of not listening. I don’t really give a shit what they’re scheming; and as everyone knows, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Heh, good thing Vi isn’t here to hear me say that. She hates that kind of cliché. Vi... hmm. What was it she said, something about Inculta coming out to talk to her, and telling her that the Legion would soon leave the Mojave. Good news and bad. I had better ask him about that.


	16. Chapter 16

☢ _Sandalwood on Rose, Fox wood in Rose_ ☢

 

Sometime in the afternoon the two women who washed me this morning come in. They get me up, lay a thick quilt over the bed, then strip me naked and lie me face-down on it. I have no idea what they’ve been ordered to do, but what the hell. If it involves staying in bed, I’ll just go with it.

They open jars of scented oil, dip their fingers in it, and start massaging the oil onto my skin. One starts at my feet and very slowly works her way up my legs. The other starts at my hands and does the same along my arms, to my torso. Nice.  
“What is that scent?” I ask, as she rubs it into my back, kneading my tired muscles. The other woman is working on my buttcheeks now.  
“Sandalwood, Miss.”  
“Huh. Never heard of it. Or smelled it before.”  
“It was traded from far off, Miss. Another land. More costly than gold, they say.”  
Wasted on me then, I think. Although it does smell good; and being so skilfully massaged is blissful.

The woman working on my back turns me over and begins to massage my chest, focussing on my tits. Kinda takes me by surprise; but damn if it doesn’t feel good. She swirls her oiled hands around in sweeping circular motions, and teases my nipples to hard peaks. The other woman rubs oil on my inner thighs, closer and closer... and she doesn’t stop. Her fingers lightly massage around the lips of my freshly shaven pussy, then I stifle a gasp as they slip inside me for just a microsecond. Is this really happening? She pushes my legs wide apart. I don’t resist, but my pulse is racing. She pays full attention to my pussy now, stroking inside me with the fingers of one hand, and teasing my clit with the other. The woman working on my tits quits them to come down and help. She takes over on my clit, while the first woman starts using the fingers of both hands in my pussy, massaging my inside walls, and gently stretching me open. Shock and sexual excitement combine so headily I can hardly breathe.

The woman working on my clit goes over to a flattish box on a shelf and brings it over. Laying it open on the bed next to me, I see three cylindrical pieces of dark wood. Each one is an intricately carved erect penis. So detailed that even the veins, and the foreskin around the head are there, perfectly represented. They look the same but are in three lengths: half, two thirds, and full. And I mean really full. Hmm. I think I know who these were modelled on.

She puts the half-size one into my mouth and secures it there with a loose leather strap. I feel it with my tongue, and suck it lightly. Yep. I know exactly whose dick I’m sucking.

The full-length one, she slides into my pussy, and fucks me with it for a while, at different angles, before pushing it in very deeply and securing it tightly there with another narrow strap. That leaves one more, and there’ll be no prizes for guessing where it’s going. The two women pull my legs way up, and part them as widely as they’ll go - which on me is pretty wide. Should be, I get enough practice.

Fully exposed, excited as hell, the oiling begins again, their fingers now slipping into my ass, stroking in circles, gently stretching. My, oh my. I would pay for this kind of service, if they offered it at the Gomorrah. Actually, they probably do. I should ask, next time I’m there. Hmm... how to phrase it?

Once my rear is oiled, massaged and stretched to her satisfaction, she slowly pushes in the third carved penis. I nearly lose my mind. They oh-so-slowly fuck me with it, then secure it too, and release my legs.

They tie my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed, and leave. I’m left naked, shaved, shining and slippery smooth, beautiful smelling, every hole amply filled, and panting, shaking, _desperate_ for orgasm. My clit is throbbing and pleading with me to touch it, just once - but I can’t reach it.

I close my eyes, suck the dick in my mouth, clench hard on the one in my pussy, and try to reach orgasm by thought alone. Concentrate, Cassidy. Nearly there...

“Well, well, well,” Inculta’s voice says.

My eyes fly open. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, admiring the view. He walks up, lightly trailing one finger up my leg to my bare, oiled pussy. His cock-by-proxy protrudes slightly from within, stretching my vulva open to expose my swollen clit. His finger strokes across the hypersensitive nub, and I cannot help moaning aloud. He takes off the binding holding it inside me, and slowly fucks me with his carved avatar, sometimes gently, sometimes grinding it in deeply. I moan again, and he takes the binding off my mouth and removes the smaller carving. I expect him to toss it aside, but instead he pushes it into my pussy beside the longer one, stretching me exhilaratingly.

He leaves them pushed deeply inside me, and moves up to brush his real dick against my lips. I try to take him in my mouth but he pulls back, teasing me. I want to suck him more than anything. He brings it closer and I can just lick him with the tip of my tongue. My hands involuntarily jerk against their bindings, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer. I move my head up as far as I can, but he moves his dick just out of reach. I see precum shining on the head and can’t take my eyes off it.  
“I want to taste it,” I whisper, panting with desire and frustration. “Please!”

He relents at that, and moves forward to let me start sucking him. I remember how he told me he likes it, and try to do it that way, though it’s difficult with my hands tied. He holds my head and guides my movements. Normally I kinda hate it when guys do that, but right now, it feels better than anything I could come up with. 

“Honeysuckle Rose,” he says.

He fucks my mouth till his seed spills inside and I gulp it down hungrily.

Moving down the bed, he unties one of my legs and bends it up, looking at my stuffed holes.  
“What a beautiful sight,” he muses. Gently sliding his effigy out of my ass, he replaces it with his hardening flesh-and-blood dick, easily cramming himself into my well-oiled back entrance. He stiffens fully inside me.  
“Touch my clit,” I pant. “Please, please.”  
His eyes smile. “I do like it when you beg for me,” he says.  
“Hell, I’m begging you alright. Touch me before I pass out from lack of fulfilment.”  
“Lack of fulfilment?” he queries, making a particularly hard thrust into my willing ass.  
“Not that kind of fulfilment. You’re filling me just fine. But touch me, _please_ , goddamnit!”  
He obliges, remembering the way I once showed him how.

He’s nothing if not a gentleman.

☢*☢*☢

“You’re damn good at drawing,” I say, as we lie upside down on the bed afterwards and I notice the sketch again. “But you didn’t have to pretty me up like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“All... dreamy-looking.”  
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you look like, Rose.”  
“Hah. Maybe ten years ago.” As soon as I say it, I realise I should shut the hell up and accept the compliment.

Inculta looks frankly annoyed. “Would you like me to take it down?”  
“No. Sorry. It’s nice.” I mentally slap myself. Jeez, Cassidy. No one can do anything sweet for you, can they. Always gotta shit on it.

Then I relent on myself. I don’t expect anything to be nice because I’m so unused to getting anything genuinely nice. I try to remember the last time anyone paid me a genuine compliment; as in, one for any purpose other than setting up a one-night stand. I can’t remember any since I was a kid, way back before my daddy left.  
And, well, he left, so what does that say.

“You should rate yourself more highly, Rose. I think I will help with that.”  
“Little cocky, but ok,” I grin.  
He gives me one of those interior smiles.  
“Who carved those, uh, carvings?” I ask.  
“I did.”  
“So you draw and carve. You’re pretty artistic.”  
“It’s a hobby. I also carve bone. I’d like to carve stone too, but I don’t have the right tools.”  
“You have time for a hobby?”  
“Of course. We sometimes have a lot of downtime, in between actions.”  
“Huh. What’s Lucius’ hobby?”  
“Bodybuilding. Isn’t it obvious?”  
“Ha ha, yeah. What was Lanius’ hobby?”  
“Rape and torture.”  
Urgh. “Oh. Right. Well done you for killing him, then.”  
“Thank you.” Inculta strokes my hip. “I also carve skin.”  
I nearly choke. “What?”  
“I do tattooing, using an ancient technique. With a fine chisel, and hammer. Have you seen the bull tattoos on some of the praetorian guards?”  
“No..?”  
“They’re mostly on their backs and upper arms, covered by their armour. Wait there. Cover yourself.” He jumps up, throws on his uniform and disappears toward the throneroom.   
I pull the quilt up over my body.

He reappears with a burly guard in tow and orders him to show me. The guard removes his upper body armour and tunic, turning his back to reveal a large red and black tattoo of a charging bull. It’s done in seemingly simple lines, yet it’s not simple at all, it’s complex and brilliant.  
“Damn, you’re good,” I breathe, honestly impressed. I’ve seen a fair few tattoos, but I’ve never seen a particularly worthwhile one before. Not one like this.  
Inculta is watching my reaction closely. He dismisses the guard with a wave of his hand, looks at me a moment, then nods a goodbye and leaves too.


	17. Chapter 17

Almost immediately, the two women come back in and doll me up. I give a friendly-but-awkward smile when I see them, then try to avoid their eyes for the rest of the encounter. It’s not that difficult – they seem to be pretty well-trained at avoiding eye-contact. I’m put into my red dress again, which, yes, I’m uncomfortably aware is distinctly Legion red. I guess the Legion has a lot of that colour dye. The women mess about with my hair for ages. I don’t really know what they’re doing with it, since there isn’t a mirror in here, but where it’s usually dead straight and worn up, they’ve got it down my back and shoulders, and they’ve made it go wavy somehow. 

I openly slug whisky while they work away at me, and they politely pretend not to notice. My supply is running low, but I’m starting to feel nervous again, and drinking is keeping it under control. I’ll need to go find some more booze first thing tomorrow morning.

In the evening, the promised celebrations begin.

Inculta comes for me and walks me through the throneroom, now empty of men. Outside, there is a long table set up, and on the lower slope beyond that, a sea of men. I mean thousands and thousands. All standing at attention, in ranks, watching us. It’s fucking terrifying, if truth be told, and as I look out at them I falter in my step.

Inculta’s hand is on the small of my back. He strokes me with his thumb. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, not looking at me. “Stand here.”  
I stand where he tells me, and he steps further forward. The vast crowd falls silent. Lucius moves to stand at his right hand. Inculta takes a deep breath, salutes them, and then, in a booming voice I wouldn’t have guessed him capable of, gives a speech, all in Latin. And whatever the hell he’s saying, it’s going down really well. His phrases are punctuated by deafening, nearly sphincter-loosening baying from the men. I recognise a few words here and there in his speech; Caesar, Courier, New Vegas.

Wait, what?  
Why’s he talking about the Courier and New Vegas? I suddenly remember again what Vi said, that Inculta had come out and told her that the Legion was quitting the Mojave. I can’t believe I forgot to ask him about it. When she saw him, Caesar must already have been dead. Why did he tell her that? Why did he not even try to win at the Dam? I have a burning urge to ask all these questions, but now isn’t exactly the time. He’s rallying his men into a frenzy. Every time he finishes a sentence and pauses for a second, they roar and fist-pump the sky in response.

I am in the very heart of madness.

Not sorry I drank all that whisky this afternoon.

Inculta’s speech concludes, and the roaring and cheering from the men reaches a heart-stopping crescendo. He makes a gesture with his hand and they fall abruptly silent. He half-turns and indicates for me to come and stand next to him. I somehow don’t want to, but my feet betray me and step forward.

A man I don’t recognise comes close and makes another, shorter speech, also in Latin. Then he says something to us, and Inculta takes my hand and raises it to the sky as though in joint victory. Wild cheering erupts again.

I feel like I am in a strange dream, and at that point one of those scene-changes that occurs in dreams happens. The smell of roasting meat wafts past, and down amongst the men, now at ease, a small army of slaves bring out rows and rows of trestle tables, covered in food, and begin doling it out to the men. The table up where we are gets laden also, and a great feast begins. We sit in the centre, facing the men. I am on Inculta’s left, Lucius stays on his right. I vaguely recognise some of the other officers at our table from the banquet we had with Caesar, three long weeks ago.

Ok, this is alright. I am no longer at a warmongering rally of violent hooligans clamouring for blood. Now I’m at a dinner party with calm hooligans on their best behaviour. Nothing I can’t handle. There are even some other females at the table; some women who look like officers’ wives, and a couple of very young girls sitting together with three teenage boys.

“Who are the kids?” I whisper to Inculta.  
He follows my gaze. “Those are my children.”  
I’m stunned. “All of them?”  
“Yes. The three youngest are not here. I have eight children. You will meet them, later.”  
 _Eight children?_ This dream just got weird again. “How old are you?” I ask.  
“I don’t know precisely. Thirty-two, or thereabouts.”  
“How can you not know how old you are?”  
“Birth dates were not recorded in my tribe.”  
A creepy thought occurs to me. “Who are the mothers of those children?”  
“They all have the same mother. The woman I was married to.”  
“Was? Where is she?” Thinking, oh god, please tell me that you didn’t kill her -  
“I divorced her the day I became Caesar, which was the first day that I had power to do so. Rose, in the Legion marriages were arranged, not chosen by the participants. I was made to marry her when I was fifteen or sixteen, and I’d never met her before that day. That was how it was done in the Legion. My eldest son, who is sixteen, is also married, and his wife is pregnant.”  
“ _Was_ done?”  
“Under the _old_ Caesar.” His eyes twinkle.  
“So you’re a thirty-two year-old grandfather.”  
“Almost.”  
“What’s happened to your wife, now she’s been divorced?”  
“She has married the man she loved all along.”  
“Oh. Guess that’s ok, then.”  
“That’s not why I divorced her. I wanted to be free to marry someone else, too.”  
“Uhh...”  
“Look.” He points up into the night sky, now filling with stars. “There is Cassiopeia.”

This is freaking me the fuck out. A couple of hours ago I was having hot steamy sex with a gorgeous and interestingly perverted single-seeming man. Now I discover I’m stepmother to eight children. And speaking of which, what was that ceremony? He didn’t just marry me, without asking... did he?

I try to follow his directions, to see the Seated Queen, but I can’t help stealing another look at his children. I guess his ex-wife didn’t cheat – they all look a lot like him. They catch me looking at them. I grin sheepishly. The littlest girl smiles back, the others just gaze curiously at me.

Inculta must see me looking worried, because he says, “You will take no responsibility for them. They will remain with their mother.”  
“Do you love them?” I don’t know why I asked that. Bad memories of being abandoned by my own father, maybe.  
“Of course. I am their father.”  
“They’ll stay close to you?”  
“Yes. As close as they ever were, which is not as close as perhaps you are used to, in your culture.”  
“Oh, believe me, my father didn’t make a point of being close to me.” He got as far away as he could.  
“But you wish he had?”  
I wish I hadn’t said anything. “Uh. Dunno. Which one did you say was Cassiopeia?”

Lucius takes Inculta’s attention, and the dinner progresses. I barely eat. What is going on here? I wanted to see him again so badly, I was thrilled to wake up with him this morning; but now everything’s going too fast. I’m starting to suspect that the second part of the ceremony was indeed a wedding, but I’m not sure and it feels way too weird to ask. Even if it was, surely it doesn’t mean anything without an “I do”? Would I have said I do, if he had asked me?

And how the fuck dare he not ask me?!

Ach, come on, Cassidy. Stupid question. Vulpes Inculta doesn’t ask anyone’s permission to do anything, he’s proved that several times already. He jumped me in his tent the night we met. Had me arrested by the NCR, just for fun. Had me abducted from Vegas to come here. And now, I think he just married me, in another language, in front of several thousand witnesses.

The food is cleared away, and a heavy-looking baked seedcake is brought out. A hush falls. Lucius ceremonially cuts one slice, and presents it to Inculta, who in turn holds it up for me to bite. All eyes at the table are on me. I get the feeling something of great significance is going on. Is this me saying I do?

The little girl who smiled at me, his daughter, gives me her sweet warm smile again. Probably just thinking about cake.

Hmm. I could just say no thanks, no cake for me today, and get up and walk away. And go back to my directionless old shit-luck life. Or, I could take the option with adventure, romance, and possible extreme terror.

Next to me, a vein in Inculta’s neck is throbbing fast. His heart is going like mad, just as mine is.

I bite it. Doesn’t taste like a bullet, but I’m sure as hell it is one.


	18. Chapter 18

☢ _The Rose loses her mark, while the Fox marks his territory_ ☢

 

I need a drink.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, getting up. I go back into the command tent, feeling the unfamiliar swish of the long dress around my bare legs.

It’s been my lifelong rule of thumb to never turn down an opportunity to have a weird experience. This rule has led me to having some kick-ass fun in the past. Boy, I could tell you some stories. 

But today is getting too weird even for me.

In the bedroom, I dig out my whisky bottle. There’s only a tiny bit left, just a taste, barely enough to swallow.  
Goddamnit. _I need a drink._

A hand touches my back and I jump, the whisky bottle slipping from my hand. Inculta catches it neatly, holds it up to the lamplight, and shakes it slightly.  
“None left,” he observes. He must read the look on my face because he adds, “I have some you can use, if you like.”  
“You? Have alcohol?”  
“Not me personally, but yes, sometimes. When it’s confiscated, it goes into a locked box with other contraband. We then use it to trade. I believe there is some there now. Shall we look?”  
“We most certainly shall.”

Back in the main part of the tent Inculta drags a heavy box out from under a table. He unlocks it, pulls out an unmarked bottle, unscrews it and sniffs the contents. His face when the fumes hit him is quite funny.  
“I thought you guys detested any kind of drinking.”  
“It was completely banned, under the old Caesar,” Inculta nods.  
“Not you?”  
“Me, too. It makes dolts out of legionaries and slaves alike. But you are in neither category,” he hands me the bottle, “so you have a special dispensation.”  
“To be a dolt. Thank you.” I sniff the bottle’s contents. Not whisky. It’s absinthe, one of my less favourites, known to make people who drink it go mad. Still, beggars can’t be choosers. I take a sip to get my mouth accustomed to it, then chug down a hearty gulp. I feel better instantly, before it could possibly have hit my bloodstream.

“No one is without fault. Yours at least are on the surface, Rose,” Inculta says, leading me back to the bedroom.  
“Oh, you just don’t know about my hidden faults yet.”  
“I don’t think you have any. I think you take pains to hide depths, not flaws.”

Me, depths? I don’t know if he’s right about that, but I don’t say anything, opting to flop down on the bed instead, still sipping the elixir of madness. Inculta gets on all fours over me, still fully clothed in his ceremonial regalia. His dark hair is mussed, and his eyes shine strangely in the lamplight. With the fur on, the effect is that of a wolf over captured prey.

“Vi told me you’re leaving the Mojave,” I say softly.  
The wolf bares its teeth. “The Courier knows nothing,”  
“She said you talked to her.”  
“Indeed. Did she mention to you what else she talked to me about?”  
“No..?”  
“She offered herself to me.”  
“What?”  
“She offered me her body, to use for any pleasure I saw fit. For nothing in return, or so she claimed. _You and I could really go places_ , were her precise words.”

I try to smile, like it’s funny, but my face just falls. It’s not that shocking a piece of news, I of all people know what Vi is like, and hell, I only met this man through her taste for living dangerously; but it makes me feel sickly nonetheless.  
“Why do you travel with her? She is not your friend,” Inculta says.  
“She was,” I say, feeling very conflicted.

I push him off me, sit up, and reach for the absinthe to suck down some more. Kill those feelings, Cassidy. Attagirl.  
“Aren’t you going to ask if I took up her offer?”  
“No.” I honestly don’t want to know.  
Inculta frowns. “Don’t you care?”  
“Why don’t you just tell me the things you want to tell me, and not what you don’t.”  
Inculta says slowly, “I would like it, if you showed a little more... possessiveness? Of me.”  
“Alright. Did you fuck her?”  
“No.”  
“Ok then.”  
“Would you kill her if I had?”  
“Nah. I might think about killing you, though.” I meet his eye. It’s a bluff, of course. I wouldn’t kill a guy for that. Rough him up a little, maybe.  
His frown fades. “That’s more like it.”  
I make pistol-fingers at him. “You touch another woman and you’re dead meat,” I say, cocking and firing, warming to the theme. Feels pretty good, actually. I quaff more absinthe.  
“Is that right?” He’s grinning wickedly now.  
“I’ll rip your throat out,” I snarl.  
This sets Inculta on fire. He grabs me and tears my dress open, putting his mouth to my breast and sucking my nipple voraciously. His fingers find their way between my legs and push into the moistness.

The absinthe starts to cloud my brain, and I can’t quite focus my eyes. I can feel what he’s doing to me, though.

He puts his beautifully hard dick in my mouth and I blow him till he’s almost there, then he gets me flat on my belly, pushes the Legion-red dress up over my ass and takes me hard and fast, biting down on my shoulder as he cums.

After a pause he goes over to the box of carvings, which have been cleaned, oiled and returned to their places. He selects the medium-sized one, and, parting my legs, pushes it into my pussy till it disappears fully inside me. It feels just fine tucked in there.  
“I want you to keep that inside you whenever you are in public, from now on. To remind you who your true owner is.”  
“Uh, you don’t own me.”  
“Forgive me, I misspoke. To remind you who your husband is.”  
“You didn’t really...” I’m having trouble speaking clearly, now. “Do that, did you?” That goddamn absinthe is smacking me down hard. Everything looks strange and exaggerated.  
Inculta gives me the twinkling eyes, which look huge to my absinthe-addled brain.

He goes over to a different wooden box sitting near his carving box. Whatever comes next in this circus of tricks? He brings the box over to the bed, but I can’t see inside it.  
“Rose, would you allow me to draw a picture on you?”  
Did he say of me? Or on me?  
“Ok,” I say blurrily. Consciousness is only weakly in my grasp, now.

I try to keep my eyes open as he removes items from the box, but I can’t seem to manage it. Hallucinatory colours swirl around me, floating me up, and I drift away from the world.

☢*☢*☢

I awake the next day, no idea what time it is. I’m alone in the tent. I try to remember what happened last night, but I don’t get any images from after I started to drink the absinthe. 

Some kind soul has left a big jug of water and a cup for me. When I reach for it my back hurts in a strange way. The skin feels tight and very sore. I drink some pints of water, then try to look over my shoulder to see what’s wrong with my back.

Oh... fuck. Oh fuck. My back is completely covered in cuts. My psycho lover has committed some kind of horrific ritual on me, while I was knocked out.

Half-formed thoughts fly past me. Why have I been playing along with this maniac? He’s mad as a meat axe. This proves it - as if everything else hadn’t already.

Wake up Cassidy. You’ve got to get out of here.

I struggle out of bed, willing my legs to work properly. There’s still too much absinthe in my bloodstream. I sit down, and drink another glass of water, trying to calm myself down and formulate a plan of escape.

Ok.

Yeah. Find your old clothes, Cassidy. Put them on. Fill your whisky bottle with water. That’s it. Straw hat on, low over the eyes. Now walk out of here. Walk, don’t run. Don’t wobble either, fool. Out the side door. Howdy, boys. Down the hill. Keep going. There’s a caravan leaving, hurry, catch it. Walk next to the caravan. Smile sweetly at the caravaneer. Good day to you too, mind if I hitch a lift? Thank you kindly, sir.

Two hours later, I’m on the opposite shore, saying goodbye to the helpful caravaneer, my unaware saviour.

Four hours later, I‘m lost. I sit down in the hot afternoon shade of a boulder, and drink the last of my water. Something feels wrong. Something other than the fact that I’m lost, hung over, cut to ribbons, almost certainly out of a job, and apparently married. Something’s not right...

Oh shit, no. No no no. My pendant is missing, my rose pendant, that I’ve had all my life. _No._

Tears run down my face. There’s no one anywhere around to hear me. I let go and howl.

When I open my eyes, a big black dog is standing right in front of me. I think I am hallucinating again, but it moves closer and licks my fingers. Hey, I know her, it’s Cass the Dog. Cassiopeia.

Which means... Silence and Vulpes Inculta must be somewhere close too. I look around, but don’t see them. With some difficulty I clamber up on top of the boulder. Nowhere in sight.

“Hurh”. Cass the dog makes a low, gruff bark. She starts walking a few steps and looks back at me.

What the hell. I’ll die here if I don’t go find water. I follow her.

An hour or two later, I start to recognise my surroundings, we are heading to the 188 Trading Post. I know the guys there, and they let me have some not-too-irradiated water for free. I share it with Cass. She grins at me, and I rub her ears and the soft fur on her neck. A small cloud of dust comes out of her fur.

By about midnight, we arrive outside the front doors of the Lucky 38. The doors don’t open for me. I go closer. Nothing.  
“Yes Man?” I ask tentatively.  
“Well howdy ma’am, good to see you again. I’m afraid you can’t come in. Boss’s orders,” says a disembodied voice.  
Well, fuck. “Violetta in there?” I ask. “Not gonna argue with her about it, I just want my stuff back.”  
“No one home right now, come back another time, I’m sure it’ll be fine and dandy,” Yes Man responds.

Nothing fine or dandy about what’s going on right now, but no point making a fuss. I walk away, Cass at my side.

Where to go? It’s late at night and I have nothing but the bloodstained shirt on my back. My meagre supply of caps and my shotgun are all up in the 38. I wander aimlessly for a minute, then I have an idea. I know a very nice place to sleep, somewhere free, safe, and peaceful enough that I can gather my thoughts. No, not in Boone’s bed; but Boone is going to help me. I think.

“Sure,” says Boone fifteen or so minutes later, digging in his pocket and handing me his set of lockpicks. “Bring ‘em back when you’ve finished with them, eh?”  
“Wilco. Thanks, Boone, ‘preciate it.”  
He’s staring at my tits, cheeky bastard. “Cass... where’s your pendant?”  
Or that. “I lost it.”  
“Huh. And you found a dog instead.”  
“It’s a long story. Tell you another time, Boone. Night.”  
“You ok, Cass?”  
“Night, Boone.”  
“G’night.”

That night, I sleep under the stars, in the empty white roofless cube in Inculta’s hideout, Cassiopeia curled up at my feet.


	19. Chapter 19

When I wake up the next morning, I feel better. The pain from my back has almost gone, and the godawful hangover I suffered all day yesterday has finally cleared.

It’s still just me and Cass the dog. She needs food, and so do I, so we get up and head back into the city. I call in a favour at Vault 21 and get an all-day breakfast on credit. I eat the toast and beans, Cassie scarfs down the sausages and blood pudding.

After breakfast I head to the Lucky 38 to try to get my stuff from Vi. It’s not all that surprising she’s fired me, I did go awol for several days. The hitting-on-my-man thing is not quite so easy to forgive. Not that he’s my man. But he thinks he is; and she thinks he is.

When I arrive, the doors soundlessly open for me. The dog sits down outside and won’t come in. I hope she waits for me. I’m getting sorta fond of her.

Up in the presidential suite, Vi is in the bath, her recent recruits the doctor and the new chick are loafing around in the kitchen, and there’s another new guy here, an old ghoul. No one introduces him.

“You look a little the worse for wear,” says the doctor.  
“Had a rough few days,” I say, taking off my jacket.  
“What happened to your back?” asks the chick, crinkling her nose. “There are dried bloodstains all over the back of your shirt”.  
“I don’t know exactly,” I admit. “It happened while I was knocked out.”  
“Let me look,” the doctor says.

I go over and take my shirt off for him to see. Maybe he can tell me what the hell it is.  
“Fuc..king... hell,” he breathes. They all crowd around to look. “Who did this?”  
“Wow!” says the chick. “That’s something else.”  
The ghoul says, “That might be the best tattoo I’ve ever seen. And I’m 234 years old.”

Oh... tattoo. Of course. _I also carve skin._  
“What is it?” I ask, unsuccessfully craning my head round to try to see it.  
“It’s a wolf,” says the chick.  
“No, it’s a fox,” says the doctor. “A fox, drinking at a waterhole.”  
“And looking up at us in a scary kind of way,” adds the chick.  
“The expression is intense,” agrees the doctor. “It’s a threatening look.”  
“It’s: ‘No one else drinks at MY fuckin’ waterhole’,” affirms the ghoul, jabbing a finger into the air to reinforce the point.

Of course.

“Wish I still had my tattoos,” muses the ghoul.  
“Who did this?” asks the doctor again.  
“Did what?” says Vi, coming in. She sees it, and her face changes. “That a fox?” she asks in a strange voice, and I know she knows.  
I put my shirt back on. “I just came by to pick up my stuff, Vi.”  
“Uh huh,” she says, still in the strange voice. “Hey Cass?”  
“Yeah?”  
“People are saying that Caesar’s dead. You know anything about that?”  
“I heard the same thing.”  
“Who’s in charge now?”  
I hesitate. “Vulpes Inculta.”  
She stares at me for a long time, then says, “I’m the Courier, Cass. Not you.”  
Whatever that means. Only the almighty Courier gets to fuck the cool guys? Including the cool psycho mutilators.  
She can have him.

As soon as I think that, it hits me hard that it’s not true. I can’t let her have him. I don’t know if I can handle him, but I sure as hell don’t want anyone else handling him.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say lightly. No confrontation, not tonight at least. I just want to get out of here.

I leave the room to go get my stuff. Shotgun, combat knife, caps, spare clothes... no radio. It’s not by the pillow where I left it. I pick up the pillow and shake it, pull back the bedcovers, look on the floor underneath the bed. It’s gone.

Standing up, I wonder whether to ask new recruits about it. Why not, they don’t know what it is. I go back into the kitchen, but the doctor and new chick have gone out. It’s just Vi and the ghoul here now.

“Looking for this?” says Vi. She’s holding up the little micro-radio.  
“That’s one of my things, yes,” I say, trying to seem casual. I’ve got a bad feeling confrontation is coming whether I want it or not.  
“You talk to Vulpes on this, huh,” she says, turning it over and looking closely at it. “Don’t bother denying it, Arcade heard him trying to call you on it last night.”  
“I wasn’t denying anything. I’m here for my stuff and nothing else, Vi. Can we end this on a friendly note?”

She looks at me in a not-unfriendly way, and for a moment I think it’s going to be fine, I’ll take my stuff and she’ll let me go, but then something really unfortunate happens.  
The radio hisses a second of static. _“Desert Rose”._  
Oh shit. Worst timing ever. We all look at the device in Vi’s hand. I make a snatch for it but she moves her hand back, grinning.  
 _“Desert Rose,”_ his voice says again.  
“Let’s have some fun,” Vi says, winking at the ghoul. “Gag her.”

What? No fucking way. I turn and run for it, but when I reach the elevator, goddamn Yes Man won’t open its doors for me. The ghoul grabs me and wrestles me down, and Vi comes over and zips plastic handcuffs onto my wrists.

Some gaffer tape puts an end to my shouts, and they drag me back to the kitchen and sit me at the table.  
“Chill, Cass, we’re just gonna have some fun, then you can go,” says Vi, as though it was nothing to bind and gag an erstwhile friend.

I start to sweat. Being gagged again, only a couple of days after the last incident, is making me feel panicky.

She presses transmit and then does a surprisingly good impression of my voice.  
 _“Well hey there, Vulpes baby. Cass here.”_ My voice, but not what I would say.  
There’s a short silence, then -  
 _“Hello, Courier.”_  
Ha, ha. Screw you, Vi.  
 _“It’s Cass here,”_ she tries again.  
Inculta sounds bored. _“I’m not interested in your game, Courier. Put Rose of Sharon Cassidy on, please.”_  
Vi speaks in her flirtiest voice. _“Ok, you got me. Hey, word’s getting around that you’re Caesar now, that true?”_  
 _“Put her on, please.”_  
 _“Oh, old Cass is busy right now. You gonna come visit us soon? I’d like to show you my... hospitality.”_ She wiggles her eyebrows at the ghoul.  
 _“Put her on. If she’s there.”_  
 _“I’m afraid I can’t, baby. She’s too busy fucking some NCR dudes right now.”_  
Silence.  
 _“Oh man, they are going at her HARD,”_ Vi says, ramping it up.  
No answer.  
 _“Woo! Spit roast!”_ she crows.  
 _“You are not as funny as you think you are, Courier,”_ Inculta says. _“And I don’t believe she is there.”_  
 _“She can hardly chitty-chat about the weather with so much NCR meat crammed in her mouth, can she?”_ Vi says, making cock-sucking faces at the ghoul, who keeps a steadfastly neutral expression.  
 _“Here, listen.”_ She holds the radio up to my face and presses transmit. I give Vi the kill-you eye and don’t say anything, until the ghoul sticks his fingers in some pressure points on my neck, and I make an involuntary “Mmnnhh!” sound through the gag.  
 _“See? Mouth too full,”_ Vi says.  
There’s another short silence, then Inculta speaks, and his voice sounds amused, but I know better.  
 _“Do you have any other last words you wish to give me, Courier?”_  
 _“Listen, Caesar or not, you don’t threaten me, fuckwad,”_ she says.  
There’s no answer.

Vi tries quite a few more times, with charm, offers of truces, deals, all the sex he can handle, interspersed with threats and sneering abuse, but all she gets is dead air.

She looks at me, chewing her lip and thinking.  
“Free her,” she orders the ghoul. He cuts the plastic around my wrists, and while I’m rubbing circulation back into them she abruptly smashes the radio under a heavy glass ashtray.  
“Take your shit and go.” She leaves the room herself.  
“Sorry ‘bout that,” the ghoul mutters as he tears the tape off my mouth. “I don’ know if I like this new gig. Some weirdass stuff goin’ on here.”  
You said it, ghoul.

I take my shit and go. Except for my little distillery operation, which I’m too itchy to get out of there to take the time to dismantle, and I can’t carry intact. I’m going to have to abandon it. Crap.


	20. Chapter 20

Cassiopeia is waiting for me outside. We walk down to Freeside, where I rent a room upstairs in the Atomic Wrangler.  
“You want male, female or robot?” Francine Garrett, the bartender, asks me.  
“No company, thanks. Just a room with a bathroom.”

Upstairs, I dump my stuff on the floor and take a long shower. I scrub all the dirt off, wash my hair and brush my teeth. I wash my dirty clothes, squeezing them out as best I can.

There’s a full length mirror in there, with an unfamiliarly shaven, pendantless woman reflected in it. Is that even me? Twisting around, I pull my wet hair out of the way to check out Inculta’s tattoo. It takes up most of my back; and it’s exactly what the ghoul said it was. I do have to admit, though, it's impressive.

But... it’s the latest thing in an increasing list of things he felt free to do to me whether I liked it or not, and probably the most extreme thing yet. You can’t divorce a tattoo.

Still. It is beautifully done, in a menacing sort of way; and hey, in one sense my luck was actually good – I could have found a Legion bull there.

I wonder, what else has he got in mind? When I’m with him, I can’t help get the feeling he’s planning something bigger than all this, something so tremendous in scale and – to him – so amusing, that he’s constantly laughing inside about it. That’s the feeling I get from him. That’s he’s got some secret that he’s laughing his ass off about.

I get dressed in dry clothes, head downstairs and spend a pleasant afternoon in the bar.

Cassiopeia sits right next to me. I order a bowl of water and some barbequed gecko for her. There aren’t supposed to be animals in here, but I’ve been a pretty good customer over the years, so Garrett brings the stuff and doesn’t say anything. 

Am I supposed to return Cassiopeia to Inculta at the Fort? If that was his idea, he’s shit out of luck. I’m keeping her, and I’m not going near that place again, if I can help it. Too freaky for my taste.

Craig Boone comes in at around 7pm. He sits next to me at my small table, and orders some food and a beer. My jacket is over the back of my chair, but I slip it on when he comes in, just in case he clocks the tattoo through the thin material of my shirt. Not sure he’d pick up on its meaning if he did see it, but I don’t fancy taking the risk.

“Thanks for these,” I say, handing him back his lockpicks.  
He takes them without saying anything. He eyes the dog, then looks at my cleavage again. Still no pendant. I know that he knows something’s up, but he doesn’t know what and I can’t tell him. Which is a shame, because he’s about my only friend in the world right now.  
“So Vi kicked me out,” I say conversationally.  
Boone nods and takes a slurp of his beer. “She’s a fuckin’ psych-case.”  
“I’m coming to appreciate that.”  
“She give you a reason?”  
“It was kind of a... competitive thing, or girl-jealousy thing, I guess. I dunno. Hard to explain.”  
“You’re prettier than her anyway.”  
I snort. “Don’t lie, Boone.”  
We both laugh the same bitter laugh.

Boone’s food arrives, and I have another whisky.  
“Cass, where’d ya get that dog?” he asks.  
“Um. It belongs to a guy I know. I’m looking after it.”  
“Which guy.”  
“Guy I’m kinda seeing.”  
“Guy who aced the Van Graffs for you?”  
“The same.”  
“So he came back.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“What’s his name?”  
“He’s just a guy.”  
Boone stops chewing and looks at me quizzically. “Why’re you so cagey about him?”  
“Why’re you so interested? You got the hots for me, Boone?” I ask sweetly.  
He grunts, “Oh yeah,” and we share the sardonic laugh again.  
I ask him if he wants another drink but he says no.

Boone doesn’t say anything for the rest of his meal. When he finishes he puts down his fork and looks at me for a while.  
“He a good guy, Cass?”  
“Hard to say,” I deflect, looking into my drink. I’ve never been a good liar. One of my failings as a businesswoman. 

A good guy. Hah. I start thinking about all the ways Inculta isn’t a good guy. Let me count the ways.

By my sixth whisky I’m just deciding that Inculta is the no-good-est, scoundrel-est, rascalliest varmint in the whole wide wasteland when the door of the Wrangler swings open, and it’s one of those needle-across-the-record moments.

A man in the imposing black combat armor of the NCR Rangers stands in the entryway. He has a helmet with glowing red reflective eye protection and a full face gas mask. Over his chest is a sculpted kevlar breastplate, on his hip is a military-grade-scoped .44 Magnum in a holster, and around his waist multiple ammo belts are slung.

Everyone in the Wrangler freezes, only their eyes moving as the Ranger walks solemnly over to me and Boone’s table. A large, lethal-looking black dog follows at his heel. Silence.

The first one who moves is Cassiopeia. She gets up and nuzzles the left hand of the Ranger, who fondles her ears without looking at her. His right hand stays within reach of the .44.

Boone stands up and salutes him. The Ranger formally salutes back, then turns his head toward me. I see myself reflected in his goggles, fiery red like damnation, and I know it’s where I belong. He twitches his head very slightly, and walks out, both dogs following him.

My heartrate jumps, and I feel myself insta-moisten. Looks like I’ve once more been invited into the private world of my favourite jester.

I take it all back. Who the fuck am I to criticize him? He’s a god of war, a god of sex, and once again he makes me wanna laugh till I cry.

Boone is still standing, a look of astonishment on his face. I say thanks for the company and see ya later, and follow my funny valentine out into the night.


	21. Chapter 21

☢ _In which the Rose rolls the dice again; and the Fox goes all in_ ☢

 

I know what you’re thinking. Why are you playing his game, Cassidy? So what if he’s good at sex, so are lots of guys. You got away from him at the Fort, but now here you are running after him again like a young fool. Like Cass the dog, not Cass the grownup, independent businesswoman. Yup. I’d be thinking the same thing, if this story was about someone else.

Well, guess I’d better explain. It’s all to do with history. To put it into context, I need to tell you a different story, something that happened many years ago yet still affects my every waking moment. The reason I drink, the reason I never cared about men, the reason I’m always on the road – it’s all down to what happened on my sixteenth birthday.

When I was very young, I fell in love with one of my father’s friends. He was a tribal like my mother, close to forty years old, heavily scarred, missing a couple of fingers and twice as many teeth, had never been good-looking... and I thought he was everything.  
Why?  
Because he was a guy who got shit done.

His name was Joe, but people called him “the Chosen One”, a nickname that might’ve sounded stupid on anyone else. Not him. He and my dad used to travel around together, before I was born and for a couple of years afterwards, _getting shit done_ \- and I mean, major shit. Offing gangsters, blowing up bases, negotiating cease-fires, big goddamned hero stuff.

After my dad upped and left us, Joe still came around a few times every year, whenever he was in our neck of the woods, supposedly for a cup of tea, really to make sure me and my mother were ok. He had an old dog called Dogmeat that went everywhere with him. Joe and my mother would sit in our small front room, shooting the breeze, while Dogmeat and little-girl me listened, at their feet. He never said anything bad about my father. He was a guy who didn’t waste words. 

As time passed and I became a woman, albeit a young one, my feelings for him changed from ‘nice guy my mom knows’ to ‘guy I want to be with’. Travel around with, have sex with.... Get Shit Done with.

On my sixteenth birthday, I made my fatal move.

He came around, gave my mother some furs he’d skinned, fixed a bunch of stuff around the place that wanted fixing, then sat in our front room telling funny stories about the wild adventures him and my father had had, long ago. I remember it so vividly... sitting there listening to a crazy tale about escaping on an oil tanker from a mid-ocean Enclave base; my heart swelling up so much I thought I might die. I didn’t sleep at all that night, and before dawn the next morning I materialised in the room where he was staying, packed and good to go.

You can guess the rest. He didn’t go for it, said I was too young, like a daughter to him and all that. I told him I wasn’t young and had been with guys for several years already. Stupid thing to admit to, because then he got all worried about me in an even more fatherly way.

He went and spoke with my mother, who decided it was all just an unfortunate combination of teenage hormones and daddy issues. It wasn’t, though. I saw something in him that I hadn’t seen in any of the other men I knew, then or ever since. He went wherever he wanted, got shit done, and had a hell of a lot of fun along the way.

After he left, my mother whipped me with a belt for having been with men, and I cried my eyes out, not for the whipping but for the loss of my chance with him.

Joe didn’t come around anymore after that. It didn’t help, because I stayed in love with him for a long, long time. It hurt like hell, and I started using whisky to handle the pain. But looking back, in a way it protected me, because I became immune to falling for anyone else.

Until now.

Now, seeing Inculta stalking up the Strip ahead of me, his duster swirling around him, all the local small-time hoods cowering and scattering as he passes, I feel that thrilling, frightening, swelling sensation in my chest, just as I did at Joe’s feet more than twenty years ago.

The long shadow of the Chosen One has finally vanished, to let in the burning light of a new sun.


	22. Chapter 22

Inculta is in one of those impenetrable moods, like he was the night we first met. He doesn’t speak at all. I have to run to catch up to him, and he responds to my greeting with just a nod. I have no way of knowing if he’s pissed off that I ran away from him at the Fort, or for something else, or if this mood has nothing to do with me.

Everyone we pass shies away from him. The armor of an NCR Ranger is a thing to behold, and Inculta carries himself as though he owns the city and every soul in it.

It’s night, and the air is pleasantly cool on my skin. I look up at the stars. Long-dead satellites drift through the upper atmosphere, their reflected light flickering through the dusty Mojave air above us. A falling star burns out before my eyes, before I have time to wish on it.

We’re heading up the Strip, towards the Ultra-Luxe.  
“I have a room at the Wrangler tonight, already paid for,” I say.  
He makes no response and keeps walking.

Inside the Ultra-Luxe, white-gloved staff nod deferentially at Inculta as he passes them by. We get in the lift. The top floor doesn’t have a number, just says _Penthouse Suite_. My eyes widen as Inculta punches the button. The Ultra-Luxe penthouse suite, legendary for having its own heated swimming pool, right in the room. Well, that’s what people say. I don’t know anyone fancy enough to have ever actually seen it.

And that’s where we go. The lift reaches the top floor and its doors open onto opulence like I have never seen before. It must have cost him a fortune. I say as much. No reply. He has the key, though, and some of the White Gloves saw us enter the lift; so whatever the trick is, it’s nothing as tacky as just sneaking in.

Inculta locks the door carefully behind us and leads me into the suite. It’s vast. We enter a kitchen area, where there are whole bottles of whisky just sitting on a shelf, backlit and luminescent. Inculta pours a cut crystal bowl of water for the dogs, then gets a highball glass and pours a measure of whisky into it, adding a splash of cold nuka-cola from the fridge. He hands it to me, and walks on. I surreptitiously top it up with a little more whisky, and follow him.

Up a short flight of interior stairs there’s a master bedroom. Inculta sets down his weapons on a coffee table, and slips off his backpack and duster. He takes his gas mask off but leaves the goggles and helmet on. Just the sight of his lips is enough to make me tingle.

Reaching for me, he lifts my straw hat off, unwinds my hair, caressing it for a moment, then begins to undress me. I can hardly breathe. When I’m bare, he takes my face in his hands, and I see myself reflected in the red goggles again, naked now. He nuzzles my face a little, smelling me, plants a small kiss on my lips, then pushes me down to my knees.

It’s kinda weird, being buck naked, sucking off a man who is completely hidden by armor. I haven’t seen his eyes yet, and he hasn’t said a word. Weird but, as I get into the rhythm, remembering how he likes it, good. The skin on his dick is silky, but the flesh it covers is cast iron. I massage the underside with my tongue, and am rewarded with a quiet sigh of pleasure.

He withdraws from my mouth, lies me down on the bed and spreads my legs. I lie there, exposed, blinking up at a chandelier while he unbuckles his complex armor kit.

He unstraps his helmet and takes it off, placing it on the table next to the weapons, and turns to me. Fucking hell, his eyes are weirdly lit by this lighting. They glitter. The tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. I’d forgotten how unnerving Inculta’s stare can be sometimes. Marginally offset by his hair having been squashed by the helmet and now cutely folded up in random places.

The rest of the armor comes off, piece by piece, and he stands nude before me. His frame is scrawny but the memories it evokes in me have me trembling with desire for him.

He has a fresh tattoo, a diamond shape with a rose in it, over his heart. I recognise it- it’s a replica of my lost pendant. Apart from being larger than the original it’s a perfect copy, down to the last detail. He climbs onto me and I trace my fingertips over it, feeling the raised skin where the ink has recently been implanted.  
“Did you do this?”  
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

Hell’s jingle-fucking-jangling bells. He tattooed his own chest. _Ouch?!_


	23. Chapter 23

I’m shivering when he enters me and fucks me brutally. His expression is frightening and I start to get paranoid he’s going to bite my face. I put my hand up to his mouth and he bites my fingers instead, champing down hard on them and growling in the back of his throat. A wolf as much as a man, there’s no question. I’m acutely aware of the scent of his skin and feel of his muscles flexing, every part of his body fully devoted to fucking me as hard as physically possible, making it feel like we’re both part-animal.

Biting, clawing, slamming and battering eventually cools down into pressing, gasping, rubbing and thrusting, and later still slows into nuzzling, caressing, sliding and stroking.

Fuck he’s beautiful, I think as I kiss the underside of his jaw, right around the place where I once pressed my shotgun’s barrel.  
“I love you,” I say, completely without intending to. I hadn’t even been thinking it, not consciously at least. “Oh shit,” I mutter, also unintentional.  
Inculta looks at me, amused.  
“I didn’t say that.” I cringe.  
“Say it again,” he says softly. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me tonight; but I’d rather die than confess my feelings again.  
“No way.”  
“Say it.”  
“Nope. Never.”  
He gives me the twinkly eyes. “Say it.”  
“I’m gonna go test out that pool,” I declare, wriggling out of bed. He lets me go, thank fuck. That was embarrassing. Whisky and its goddamned tongue-loosening properties.

Downstairs, I dip one foot into the water. It feels perfect, but it looks pretty deep. I never learned to swim, not being too keen on risking being molested by the lakelurks in Lake Mead, so I enter the pool carefully, but it turns out to not be too deep. Just about tits-depth, and so warm and relaxing I wish I could curl up and sleep in it. Maybe then, after a proper deep sleep, I’d wake up from this surreal dream.

The water swishes pleasingly through my fingers. I duck down and let the water go right over my head, holding my breath for as long as I can. When I come up, rubbing the water out of my eyes, Inculta is at the waters’ edge. He’s just standing there, looking very solemn, not doing anything. Then suddenly he jumps in the air, wraps his arms round his knees, and crashes into the centre of the pool with an almighty splash which goes in my eyes again and douses the floor surrounding the pool.

When he comes up he’s laughing. He wades over and grabs me playfully.  
“Careful, I can’t swim!” I yelp as I almost lose my footing.  
“Neither can I, very well,” Inculta murmurs. “Keep that a secret,” he adds in a stage whisper. “It’s my Achilles’ heel.” He winks, and as I blink back at him wondering if he’s joking and what an Achilles heel is, he laughs again.

“You’re in a good mood, all of a sudden,” I observe, looking again at his new tattoo.

He sees me looking. Getting out of the pool, he goes upstairs and comes back with - my missing pendant! I have a huge grin as he fastens the chain around my neck.

I’m thrilled to get it back. But I can’t get over his tattoo. He tattooed _my_ emblem, right on his heart. Somehow this feels a lot more significant than him tattooing his emblem on my back. I find myself completely forgiving him for that transgression.

We play in the water for a while. His mood has definitely changed. He seems happy. No, more than happy. Almost light-headed. And he’s got that, _I know something that’s making me laugh inside_ aura about him again. I wonder what it is. He has whole interior worlds that I’ve only had tiny glimpses into, if that.

He lifts me up onto the edge of the pool and spreads my legs. To my astonishment, he starts slowly licking me. His hot tongue tentatively explores my outer lips, then ventures into my interior.  
“What are you doing?” I whisper.  
“I am licking your cunt.”  
“I mean - I thought you hated that?”  
“I don’t hate it, I’ve never tried it. I’m trying it now.”  
I open my mouth again to ask why he’s abandoned the absolutely-no-cunnilingus rule, but he gives me the steely eye, stopping the words in my throat. He keeps staring balefully at me till I shut my mouth again and lean back. He applies his mouth to me again. Closing my eyes, I try to clear my head and just feel it.

And oh boy, do I feel it. The sensation is pure luxury, just like everything about this environment. Well, when in Rome...


	24. Chapter 24

No, it’s not just the hot water and good whisky making me dizzy. The world is spinning way, way off its axis. I shouldn’t be here. He definitely shouldn’t be here. Strange things are afoot, and I can’t help but get the feeling that I should know what they mean; that if I’d been paying closer attention, I would.

I’m just thinking about asking when he speaks first and the mood takes a much darker turn.  
“Rose.”  
“Mm?”  
“Tell me about Craig Boone.”  
“Uh... specifically?”  
“Specifically, what is he to you?”  
A little prickle sweeps down the back of my neck.  
I gabble, “He’s nothing, just a friend. I just went down to the bar for a drink, and he showed up. He’s a friend, nothing else. You don’t have anything to worry about. Actually, he’s about my only friend.”

Inculta says nothing, and I start to have a deeply foreboding feeling. Oh, shit.  
I try to keep any trace of emotion out of my voice. “Listen, don’t do anything to him, ok? I know what you’re thinking, but there’s nothing between us. He just helped me out a few times, that’s all. Saved my hide a few times, truth be told.”  
“And how did you show your gratitude?”  
“I said thanks. Jeez. I’ve never fucked him. Come on, he doesn’t even like me that way.”  
“Men always like women that way.”  
I bite my lip. I’m afraid now. My careless phrasing might just have gotten Boone killed.  
“Don’t do it. Promise me you won’t do anything to him. He doesn’t deserve it.”  
Inculta is looking at me with x-ray eyes.  
I’ve got nothing to hide, but somehow my voice still comes out in a guilty whisper. “You’re my man, not him.”

Oh, fuck fuck fuck. There are potentially lethal levels of jealousy enveloping me today. Me, foolishly jealous of unnamed women with Inculta; Vi, hideously jealous of me; Now Inculta, dangerously jealous of Boone. Everyone needs to calm way the fuck down.

The pool suddenly feels cold. I climb out and wrap myself up in a huge, soft towel, racking my brains for what to say to protect Boone, or whether it’s better just to shut up before things get worse.  
Inculta climbs out too. He towels off for about a microsecond, folds the towel neatly again, and walks off towards the stairs. “Craig Boone works for the Gun Runners, doesn’t he?” he asks over his shoulder.  
“Yeah.” I run to catch up with him.  
Inculta stares sideways at me for a long moment, then his expression softens slightly. “If he wishes to live a long life, I would recommend that he doesn’t make a habit of consorting with other men’s wives.”

Phew! I’m so relieved to hear that Boone will live, it takes me a moment for the rest of his words to sink in.  
“Consorting with... are you talking about me?”  
“Yes I am,” he says, with an impish grin.  
“I’m not married.”  
“Yes you are.”  
“That wasn’t a wedding.”  
“Yes it was.”  
“I didn’t agree to it.”  
“Yes you did.”  
That goddamned, treacherous seedcake. I _knew_ it.

We climb into bed.

“That night, when we first met,” I say, trying to untangle my thoughts. “I got the very strong impression that you hated my guts.”  
“I did hate you. I was also attracted to you, which made me hate you even more.”  
“So what changed?”  
Inculta’s eyes twinkle. “I walked down to the tents behind you.”  
“Meaning?”  
“I was afforded a very good view of your rump.”  
“Oh ha ha.”  
“Something I have subsequently taken great pleasure in becoming intimately acquainted with.”  
“Ha.”  
“Then you sat on me and held a gun to my head.”  
“You liked that?”  
“Not at all, but it showed spirit. And then, the coup de grâce.”  
I raise my eyebrows in query.  
“The very next time I met you, you beat up two armed NCR officers, in their own headquarters, whilst handcuffed to one of them, no less. It was...” He breaks off and glances sideways, searching for words. “Delightful... and quite charming.”

I nod graciously. Yeah, I don’t get too many compliments; so if he likes the way I bust heads, well, who am I to sniff at that.

“Get some sleep, Rose. Big day tomorrow.”  
“Ok.” Big day?  
“And don’t fear for your friend. I have made an arrangement with the Gun Runners, so if he obeys his bosses he will be safe.”  
“What?”  
“Goodnight.”


	25. Chapter 25

_☢ The Fox burns for the Rose while Rome burns for the Fox ☢_

“Rose.”  
I open my eyes. What time is it? It feels like pre-dawn, I’m groggy as hell. I’m also a sticky mess. Like every time I wake up after a night with Inculta, my mouth tastes of cum, my ass is tender and my pussy is slippery wet. I blearily open my eyes.

Inculta, by contrast, looks fresh as a daisy. One of the few advantages of teetotalling, I suppose. He’s fully dressed, strangely in his Caesar garb, complete with bearskin and gold pin. Guess he’s not planning on going outside today.

There’s a tall glass of water, and some bread and meat jerky on a plate on a nearby table. I get up and go for the water. The red dress I wore at the Fort is draped over the end of the bed. And... well well. My gun, spare clothes and other things from my room at the Atomic Wrangler are here too. He must have gone and collected them.

I straggle to the bathroom and wash up a little. When I come back, Inculta is checking his watch.  
“Eat and be ready, Rose,” he says. “We need to go.”  
“Check-out time already?” I ask. It feels much too early.  
Inculta laughs and shakes his head.  
“What’s the plan, then?” I ask through a mouthful of food. Damn it’s hard to eat, first thing in the morning. I give up after the one mouthful.  
He just smiles, hands me the red dress, and slings on his backpack.

A minute or so later we leave the room. I expect to go into the lift but instead he heads to a stairwell, and we walk up a long flight of stairs. At the top, the lock on the door has been jimmied open. He holds the door open for me and we step out onto the roof, Cassiopeia and Silence following us. I was right, it is dawn. The sun is just broaching the eastern horizon. My god, it’s beautiful up here at dawn. A cool breeze caresses my face as I survey the city.

Aw. He brought me up here to show me how beautiful it is. It really is, and I forgive him for waking me so early.

Leaning against the hip-height railing around the edge of the roof, Inculta is checking his watch again. He takes off his backpack and puts it down, beckoning me over.

I walk into a strong embrace. It’s so romantic, cuddling a beloved way above the city, as dawn lights the horizon around us. Disgustingly romantic. But also kinda nice, I must admit.

“Does the Courier still have the radio I gave you?” he asks, out of the blue.  
“No... well yeah, but she smashed it.”  
“Hm. Shame.”  
“Why?”  
“I wanted to send her a message, before I send her a message,” is the enigmatic reply.

With that he lifts me up, and I nearly have a heart attack as he pushes me so I’m half over the edge. My legs and arms flail to grab around his torso to stop me falling. He grips me tightly and positions me so my butt is perched on the railing.

“No need to be afraid, Rose, I won’t let you go,” he says, a little too late to stop me getting a few white hairs.

Holding me tightly with one arm, which is not all that comforting, he adjusts his armor and my dress, allowing himself entry to my body. The unexpected penetration and general terror of the situation makes me catch my breath.

Once inside me, he holds me securely with both arms, which makes me feel better. He thrusts slowly and stares into my eyes unnervingly. I close my eyes to try to enjoy the sensation, but immediately start to get vertigo, and open them again, to catch him checking his watch again; little unsexy. It must have reached whatever time he’s waiting for, because he leans down, still inside me, to grab his backpack and pull something out of it.

I can hardly believe my eyes. That funny, comically-coloured toy gun I saw in his tent way back on the first day we met is now in his hand.

“This is your city, Rose, not the Courier’s,” he whispers. “And now it is mine.”  
He uses my shoulder to steady his wrist, and aims it at the base of the Lucky 38. Thrusting deeply into me, he takes a deep breath and holds it, goes very still, and pulls the trigger.

Nothing. Just that same plasticky click it made when I fired it at the Fort. Nothing else seems to happen. What was he trying to do?

Inculta drops the gun at his feet and turns me round to enter me from behind. He uses his triggerfinger to rub my clit exactly the way I like.

His timing is, as always, impeccable. 

Just as I think I might begin to climax, something I can hardly describe happens. A strange blue ray shines down from the sky onto the spire of the Lucky 38, bathing the entire building in an unearthly blue light. A few seconds later the ray turns bright, blinding white, with a deafening noise like a crack of thunder. The whole casino glows like plutonium for a second, then sort of melts. It literally softens before our eyes, and becomes a spire of undulating molten metal. The light from above vanishes as abruptly as it appeared. 

The Lucky 38 is now a work of surrealist art.

All around the city, the Mark II securitrons simultaneously wilt and die, no longer supported by the 38’s mainframe. Yes Man is destroyed. Vi is dead. The city is unprotected.

“What was that thing?” I whisper.  
“Euclid’s C-Finder,” Inculta answers. He pulls out of me and re-enters, now in my ass. I hardly notice, I’m so stunned by what has just occurred. And what it means.

The show is not over yet; several massive explosions shake the ground. The NCR Embassy, the NCRMP HQ, the monorail to Camp McCarran and the Gomorrah casino all shatter, huge plumes of black smoke coiling upwards from them.

“Look,” Inculta says in my ear, pointing into the distance. Outside the city, thousands upon thousands of red-clad figures swarm over the horizon, some holding flags adorned with insignias. Legionaries.

Inculta grips me hard, penetrating me with renewed vigour.

Oh... I honestly have no idea what to do. Whatever I did now would be redundant anyway. It’s too late. When Vulpes Inculta gets shit done, by fucking god does he get shit done.

And Inculta just royally fucked me, Vi, and the whole goddamned City of New Vegas. Right in the ass.

 

☢

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for the encouraging and kind comments. Hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


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